


the one the lighthouse left alone

by Anovelle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: American Character, Ana thinks she's clever with the names she picked, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic, Arthur Returns, BAMF Arthur, BAMF Merlin, Blood Magic, Canon Continuation, F/M, I rewatched the series and now I'm back in the Trash Can, I'm a mess that loves dragons okay guys don't judge me, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, but he's not a reincarnation, just everyone is a BAMF, mentions of cutting for magic purposes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-09-15 11:56:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 72,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16932843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anovelle/pseuds/Anovelle
Summary: "Arthur’s hand came up to mirror his until they were palm to palm, and Merlin could finally begin to believe that this was real. This wasreal. No dreaming, no trickery; just the warmth of Arthur's skin a sure and steady thing against Merlin's own as his pulse thundered between them. Real."OrThe one where Arthur returns, Merlin's door throws a hissy fit, and his apprenticereallyneeds to stop messing around with his books.





	1. could be born to anything and now

**Author's Note:**

> Listen I wrote like 126 pages of this before I even started editing okay it's a Long Boi™

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Aelia was 5, she sent a brick through Mrs. Gardner’s side window to let the cat out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> semi graphic depiction of someone breaking their nose

_Arthur is dead._

_Or he thinks he is._

_But death is supposed to be quiet, peaceful. In death he is supposed to rest. Death is supposed to be final._

_And Arthur . . ._

_Arthur can feel everything._

_He is everywhere at once_. _He feels the turn of the planet, the passage of time, feels his soul grow old and restless. He watches as civilizations rise and fall, as wars are fought and won, as nations triumph over one another only to defeat themselves. He is in Camelot, watching as Gwen legalizes magic. He is in a vast desert, watching sorcerers work together for the first time in his life. He is standing in a vaulted room, watching the men before him create a number system so sophisticated Arthur laughs with delight when they're finished. He is in Albion when the Highlanders wage their war. He is with Camelot when she finally falls. He is in a town called Salem, watching women die for magic they know nothing about. He is on the front lines of a battle, as men with bayonets fight off a militia in a beg for their freedom. He watches the world go to war, and go to war again. He watches weapons beyond his wildest imaginings come into being. He watches bombs made of light obliterate cities._ _He watches people lead movements for civil rights all around the globe, listens to speeches in languages that should be foreign but aren't._ _He watches the oppressed rise up. Watches as they demand change. And he watches as magic slips away in bits and pieces, not gone, but not there either. Invisible._ _Waiting, just as he is._

_And so if death should be peace, should be quiet, should be rest when Arthur's has been anything but, logic can only dictate one thing._

_Arthur is not dead._

_———_

When Aelia was 5, she sent a brick through Mrs. Gardner’s side window to let the cat out.

The cat was a grumpy old thing, undeserving of her kindness, who was kind to the baby and no one else. Once Aelia had tried to pet him and he'd raked his claws down her arm, leaving shallow, stinging scratches that oozed yellow as they healed. The only time she had ever seen him happy was outdoors on a balmy afternoon the week previous, prowling around under her back porch after Mrs. Gardner had left the garage door open for just a second too long. He'd let her stroke his ears then as he lazed in the shade. They'd been soft and sun-warm, and Aelia remembered how she would have liked to do it once more.

There had been a polite tinkle of breaking glass, and then Mrs. Gardner screamed, and the baby Gardner began to cry, and Mr. Gardner stormed out onto their front porch, fist in the air, mustache aquiver as he shouted some very bad words at the neighborhood boys. Aelia had stood quietly behind the fence that separated her backyard from the Gardner’s and watched the large orange tabby slink down from the windowsill. His large green eyes flicked lazily about before meeting hers through a gap in the wood. Aelia could have sworn that the cat nodded to her as he neatly sidestepped the glass that glittered innocently amongst Mrs. Gardner's flowerbeds, and padded into the shrubby woods behind the house.

He was returned home by the end of the week, but he never scratched Aelia again.

 

When Aelia was 7, she gave Leroy Hannigan a nosebleed for making fun of her skirt.

Leroy was the tallest, skinniest, meanest boy in her class. He had a sharp, sneering grin and watery, narrow eyes. At the beginning of the school year, he had strategically befriended the two of the biggest boys on the playground, and proceeded to parade them around like his personal bodyguards. He quickly decided that he hated girls, and took it upon himself to terrorize them at every turn. He would dump sand in their hair, and put worms in their afternoon snacks, and steal their lunchboxes to switch their Oreos for rotted carrot sticks. And he hated Aelia the most.

One day at recess, Leroy swaggered over to where Aelia was playing alone on the swings, his lackeys in tow. She was wearing a skirt, because her mother had bought it for her the day before and Aelia had loved it. It was long, and purple, and swishy, and covered in glitter and star-shaped sequins. She wore it with her light pink ballet leotard and felt very stylish. And then Leroy Hannigan stuck his hand out and grabbed a fistful of the skirt as she swung by and spoiled it. 

Aelia was thrown from the swing and crashed  disjointedly into the wood chips at Leroy's feet, her cheek stinging, the telltale sound of fabric ripping following her all the way down. The lackeys, whose names she couldn't remember, sniggered as she lay there, trying to catch her breath and resolutely refusing to cry. She scrambled up, mustering her fiercest glare in the trio's direction. Leroy glared back, his skinny little mouth twisted up in a cruel smile, his snotty red nose stuck high and running in the early October air. A few scraps of sparkling purple taffeta dangled from his grimy little fingers. None of the teachers had seen the commotion from their appointed bench, but the kids playing foursquare and basketball had and were inching interestedly closer to what would inevitably become the newest gossip of the second grade discourse. Aelia ignored them.

“You can’t do that,” she said to the smug boy before her, injecting as much venom into her voice as a seven-year-old could.

“What are you gonna do about it, freak?” Leroy sneered. His lackeys guffawed behind him. Aelia straightened up, proud and prim even as her tattered skirt fluttered around her knees.

“I’ll tell,” she said.

Leroy rolled his eyes, “Like they’re gonna believe you, freak. With your freak hair and your freak food and your freak clothes.”

Aelia's little hands curled into fists, skinny shoulders bunched up in a line. 

“Shut up,” she said. Leroy’s smile disappeared, replaced by something vicious.

“You can’t talk to me like that freak. God, you even _dress_ like a freak don’t you? Look at that freak skirt. It looks like you found it in a trash can! Where does your dad work, the dump? Oh wait, you don’t have a dad, which is why you look like you grew up in the poorho-“

A sickening  _crack_ rang through the schoolyard, and next anyone knew Leroy was flat on the ground, clutching his bloodied nose. The students shrieked. The lackeys gaped at Aelia in horror, and raced off to find a teacher. Aelia stepped neatly over Leroy, retrieving the purple taffeta that had fallen from his hand as she went, and returned to the swing. She ignored the murmurs coming from the students below as she swung higher and higher, the cool air brushing dotingly against her scraped cheeks.

Later, after she has been given a three day suspension for fighting, the other children would whisper behind Leroy’s stiff back. Because despite the number of people that had been watching the altercation, no one had actually seen Aelia hit Leroy.

Later, when Aelia has been safely shuttled away from the school by her apologetic mother, she would smilingly recount how she broke Leroy Hannigan’s nose with just a thought.

 

When Aelia was 8, she met the great sorcerer.

She had wandered away from her mother in the park. While the other children played on the slide and the monkey bars, she slipped quietly into the shrubby undergrowth and soon found herself in a great green meadow. Sitting at its center was an old man with white hair. He was watching the clouds go by with suspiciously bright eyes, eyes Aelia had seen on her little cousins when they'd been crying. But what did this old man have to cry about?

She jogged over on legs still gangly from a recent growth spurt, and stopped a few feet away.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

The old man whipped around sharply, and, spying Aelia, softened.

“Ah,” he said, “You’re here. Kaeis’s girl, I assume?”

He stood up carefully. Aelia reached out to help him- not with her hands, but with her magic.

Magic. It was her secret- hers and her mother’s. She hoped the old man wouldn't notice; she even closed her eyes to keep him from seeing them flash from viridescent amber to bronze. She opened them when she heard him chuckle.

“Good,” he smiled. “Very good. You’ll make a fine student.”

Aelia snatched her magic back, and he slouched noticeably.

“How do you know my mother?” She asked. The old man laughed and tottered over to her.

“Young lady,” he grinned, a charming and unspeakably mysterious gleam in his eye as he rested a hand on Aelia’s shoulder.

“I taught your mother.”

Aelia gasped quietly. So this was the great sorcerer her mother spoke of, the one who could summon storms and master dragons. But he was a myth, a bedtime story for the nights she couldn’t sleep.

“Now," he straightened up and clapped his hands together, far more spry than a man of his age should be and far more real than Aelia's imagination had given him credit for, “from what I hear you’re becoming a very impressive young warlock. Your mother tells me you’ve mastered levitation, bending light, controlling fire, and some ability to, ah, manipulate other’s, well…”

Aelia chewed at her lip. She knew the old man was talking about her unfortunate run-in with Leroy Hannigan the year previous. She remembered exactly how awful Leroy’s face had looked when she came back to school, all purple and blotchy and swollen. She remembered exactly how guilty she'd felt afterwards- something her mother’s lecturing had failed to truly instill in her- and how she’d sworn off magic like that for good.

The old man’s face was somber. “That’s a very dangerous gift you have Aelia. Use it wisely.”

Aelia nodded solemnly. She would never use it again if she could help it.

“But I’m not here about that. I’m here to see you,” he jostled her shoulder in an attempt to cheer her up. “I’d be so pleased if you would show me what else you can do.”

Aelia’s grin returned tenfold.

She spent the remainder of the afternoon in the meadow with the old man, swirling the sunlight out of its way at their whim and summoning birds to rest on their arms, then levitating sticks for them to add to their nests. The old man laughed delightedly when she managed to save a young squirrel from a pair of hawks by directing a sharp gust of wind under their wings, sending them back into the sky. The genuine tilt of his smile made Aelia feel like she was the best thing in the world.

“You’re a very impressive young lady Aelia,” he said conversationally as he walked her back to her mother. “I’m sure I will see you again soon.”

Aelia’s mother was waiting for them on the bench, looking remarkably calm for some whose daughter had disappeared for hours on end without warning.

“Hello sweetheart,” she greeted as Aelia dashed ahead to hug her hello. “Did you have a good time?”

Aelia nodded, grinning.

“She’s alright for now Kaeis,” the old man patted her mother’s hand, “but be sure to let me know if she begins doing anything above her paygrade.”

He wiggled his eyebrows at Aelia. She giggled.

“Thank you,” her mother said. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“I’m sure you will,” the man said good-naturedly, and with a final flourishing wave, he disappeared into a shower of sparks. Aelia stared up in wonder. She barely registered when her mother whispered something that sounded suspiciously like, “show-off.”

 

Aelia didn't see the old man again until her 13th birthday.

She had woken grumpy and irritable, stumbling out of bed with that bad, eighth-grade attitude that ebbed and flowed like the sea. She’d overslept again, and only had time to brush her teeth and tug her awful prep-school uniform on before the bus came trundling up to the corner by her house. She climbed aboard, only breaking her scowl to wave to where her mother was standing in their front doorway. It didn’t help her mood that Ryan Cleary was sitting with Meredith Palmer. They looked thick as thieves, those two, and Aelia had to swallow the bubble of jealousy that fought its way up her throat. Over which of them her jealousy was for, she didn’t know.

God being a teenager was confusing.

The only remaining seat was in the back next to Leroy Hannigan. Aelia sat gingerly. Leroy looked up at her from his mop of My Chemical Romance emo fringe, then went back to scribbling moodily in his stupid leather-bound notebook. She sighed. Even with his newly discovered 'sensitive' (read: mopey) side, Leroy Hannigan was just as insufferable as he had been when they were seven. Perhaps even more so.

Then, halfway through the silent bus ride, he reached into his backpack to retrieve something.

“Happy birthday,” he muttered, and handed her a small chocolate truffle.

 _Oh_ , Aelia thought staring at the candy. _Maybe not so insufferable after all._

“Thanks,” she said as she unwrapped the truffle. She took a dainty bite, found it was not salty, spicy, or ruined in some other detestable way, and popped the rest into her mouth.

“That was nice of you,” she offered. Leroy shrugged, grunted, and was silent for the rest of the ride.

Aelia’s day got progressively better. As she walked through the halls, she was met with a chorus of birthday wishes from the other the students. Then in gym their regular teacher was out, and so they were given free reign over the field house to play on the scooters the substitute had managed to sequester from one of the multiple storage rooms. Ryan and Meredith had let her into their game of pushing each other around on the scooters until they fell on the floor, breathless with laughter. At lunch, the cafeteria was serving her favorite kind of pizza, and she had finished early enough  to play gaga ball before the pit became overcrowded. She and Meredith teamed up against Ryan and, surprisingly, Leroy, and had emerged victorious. They giggled all the way back to class when time was called, red faced and panting, and Aelia found herself wishing this day would last forever.

Two repetitions of Aelia’s birthday later, the old sorcerer showed up at their door. Much to Aelia’s relief, he undid the magic she’d inadvertently cast with a humble wave of his hand. She could feel when he put it right, like he was prodding the earth to spin back on its proper axis. Then he’d patted her shoulder fondly and sent her off to school to enjoy one last birthday while he had a short chat with her mother.

 

When Aelia was 15, she packed her bags and drove to Detroit Metropolitan Wayne County Airport with her mother, holding a passport, a student visa, and a one way plane ticket to Cornwall Airport Newquay.

There had been an uneventful few years, by Aelia standards, between the old sorcerer’s last visit and the one that had come only a week before. He had shown up at their backdoor, spell book in hand, and a moment later he wasn’t old at all. Instead a young and rather striking man with floofy, raven-black hair and sharp cheekbones- steel cutting cheekbones- stood in his place. It was rather odd to watch, and then the old-now-young man made it even odder when he stretched out a hand and a grin and introduced himself as Merlin. As in _the_ Merlin. Merlin from the legends- the ones with King Arthur and the knights and the dragons. And then was her mother home because he felt that this was something they should all discuss together.

Which was how Aelia found herself spending her Friday night sitting at her kitchen table with her mother and the most powerful sorcerer to ever live, chanting spells until her tongue went dry. Each of them worked- not perfectly, sometimes not even well, but they worked and Aelia was proud of herself for that. When they were finished, her mother smiled over at Merlin ( _the Merlin)_ and said, “What did I tell you?”

And Merlin _(Merlin from the stories, Merlin)_ chuckled and said, “You were right of course.”

Then he turned to Aelia and said, “Your mother says you've been improving faster than she's expected. It seems that you're in need of a full time teacher. I happen to be in need of an apprentice. I was wondering if you would like to come back to Cornwall with me to fill that position.”

Aelia blanched. She noticed her mother in the corner of her eye, grinning like a madwoman.

“You don’t have to answer right away,” Merlin said. But the smile that snuck across his face told Aelia he knew exactly what her answer would be.

And so Aelia and her mother took a week to get her affairs in order, transfer her current credits to a shiny new private school in Cornwall, and pack her things before setting off for the UK. Only Kaeis’s ticket had a return flight.

When they touched down Merlin was waiting for them, an old man once again. He and Aelia shared a secret smile as he led them to the car. All of her things, he had informed them, had arrived at his cottage just in time.

And what a lovely cottage it was, modest and comfortable and surprisingly homey. Aelia had her own room, L-shaped and far smaller than her one back home, but nicely furnished and laid out in a way that took advantage of the space. Merlin seemed to own every magical instrument known to man and then some. All of them were piled away in the library, which extended from the stacks in the basement to the private collection in Merlin’s study to the extra closet in the back hall to the kitchen itself, and overflowed in the bookshelves scattered about the rooms. Aelia loved it. Except for the spell that only let her touch the books Merlin thought she was ready for, but even then she had a large variety to choose from.

Her mother stayed for a week to help her unpack and to say a last goodbye, promising that Aelia would come home at Thanksgiving and that she would join them in Cornwall for the holidays. Then with a final squeeze and a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, she was gone. And though Aelia would miss her dearly, she had little time to sulk. Her apprenticeship was about to begin.


	2. and scream into the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was as if there were different versions of Merlin that came out, depending on the day. Most of the time he was like an older cousin or brother to Aelia- teaching her, supporting her when she needed it. He was always ready with a witty joke or a comforting smile or some profound  and often unsolicited advice. He was down to watch Monty Python and drink shitty beer that his old age really should exempt him from liking with her.  
> Then there was another Merlin, who was there fairly often, and who Aelia was convinced influenced Regular Merlin into not letting her drink until she turned 18. This Merlin was serious, level-headed, and on the rare instance where the situation called for it, ruthless. He could summon the power of the air and the sea. He was still Merlin- still kind and merciful. But he was more methodical- patient and focused in a way Aelia couldn’t even begin to replicate. This Merlin was timeless, powerful with an edge of wildness to him.  
> Then there was a last truly distinct side of Merlin. He wasn’t young, or timeless, or even simply old. This side of Merlin was ancient. He held sadness like a weight on his shoulders and his chest. This was the Merlin who looked for King Arthur everywhere he went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Long Boi... he is longer

Gwen had almost fallen asleep standing up at the cafe's register when the doorbell jingled, announcing a new customer to the quiet of the cafe. It had been a slow afternoon- only a few people had spread out amongst the little wooden tables, and fewer still had actually made to buy anything in the last hour. Gwen was unusually bored and usually sleep deprived.

She glanced up, spying a mess of dark curls hidden beneath blush-colored headphones, an upturned nose, and strange, yellow-green eyes- Aelia. Gwen smiled softly as she straightened up.

“Did you get it?” She called. Aelia slid her headphones down around her neck and proudly held up her bare arm- barely advisable in the middle of September- to display a short line of dark script on her inner bicep. Gwen squinted to see it better. “It looks wonderful,” she said. Aelia beamed.

"Thanks!" She said brightly, resting her head on the display case as if Gwen's brother wouldn't have her head for any smudges she might leave on the glass.

“What does it say?” Gwen asked as she began to fix her usual order.

“It’s my mother’s name in Aramaic,” Aelia said.

There was a note of sadness in her voice. Gwen faltered.

Aelia’s mother had been a kind woman- proud and independent and sweet in a secretive way. It was she that had brought Aelia to the cafe for the first time. Apparently she’d known Gwen and Eli’s father. Gwen remembered how excited she'd been to see Tom had finally achieved his dreams of becoming a baker.

She’d died in a car accident almost a year ago, driving back to their home in Detroit from the airport. Gwen didn't know the exact details, but she remembered how Aelia, small and meek for the first time since Gwen had met her, had broken down into tears in the middle of the shop when she got the call.

She had disappeared for a few weeks after, probably to go home and take care of her mother’s affairs. It had been the first time since her arrival in the village 18 months before where no one heard a word from her. Then as suddenly as she disappeared she reappeared, a full-fledged citizenship in place of her student visa. She had been living at the edge of their sleepy little village with the old man Emrys ever since.

“It’s beautiful,” Gwen said solemnly. Aelia nodded, eyes a little shinier than before. “Now I’ll always have her with me.”

Gwen nodded and handed Aelia her coffee. She flashed a grin that looked only slightly forced. “Any chance your brother made some of those apricot scones?”

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and reached into the display. Aelia didn’t want to cry today. She'd just gotten her first tattoo. So Gwen changed the subject.

“Did it hurt?” She asked. Aelia laughed. “Oh big time. Everyone who said it wouldn’t was _lying.”_

The last sentence was directed to the kitchen, where she knew Eli was hiding. His head popped out as if on cue and he said, "So you actually did it then?"

"I don't know why you thought I wouldn't." Aelia lifted her arm to show him, “I went to the guy in Newquay you recommended,” she said. “You lied about the pain.”

“I didn’t lie,” Eli stepped out of the kitchen and bent to examine the tattoo. “You got it in the wrong spot. Inner arm is only a little better than the ribs. Tell me you didn’t cry in the chair.”

His tone was teasing, which is why Gwen restrained herself from elbowing him in the ribs. Aelia scoffed and lowered her arm. "Of course not."

Eli quirked an eyebrow. "Really?" He almost sounded impressed.

“I cursed though. A lot,” Aelia looked to be a mix between sheepish and slightly put out. She handed a few notes to Gwen as Eli guffawed behind her.

"Knew you'd act like a noob."

"Fuck off," she grumbled. Eli smirked, unruffled.

“So what’d I miss while I was out?” She asked.

“Your uncle came to say goodbye,” Gwen said. “He says he’ll be ready to leave by tomorrow.”

“Good for him,” Aelia said as she slurped her coffee. She’d given Gwen exact change. Somehow she always managed to give Gwen exact change. She’d also managed to drop a pound in the tip jar.

“I don’t understand why you aren’t going with him,” Eli said as he lazed by the dishwasher. He clearly had no intention of returning to the kitchen anytime soon.

Aelia shrugged, “I mean there’s no reason to. I'm eighteen now, and he's moving in with his niece in London. I couldn’t get to school from there.”

“Ah, yes, you and your artwork,” Eli sighed. “Are you going to keep the house up on your own?”

"No."

"Shame. Cleaning your chin-prints off of my display case won't be practice for much then," he tossed her a rag. Gwen stared resolutely down at the floor with a poorly concealed grin.

Of course.

"There it is," Aelia muttered. She began to wipe down the glass, then to Eli she said, "You know you might as well hire me here for all the times you've made me do this."

"We give you free food you little glutton. That's recompense enough."

She snorted.

"So are you moving into the dorms next term?"

"No, I'm staying in the house."

"On your own?"

“She won’t be on her own,” Gwen broke in, “Mr. Emrys’s nephew is moving in to take care of the cottage.”

“Oh, so you’ll be living with your cousin,” Eli nodded.

“Other side of the family, actually,” Aelia said, “But I’ve known him for awhile. He came to stay with Uncle Wyltt when I was . . . away . . . last year. He’s a writer.”

“Makes sense he’d move out here then,” Eli said. He hadn’t noticed Aelia’s brief pause, or if he did he chose to ignore it. “What does he write?”

“Um, I think he used to write for medical journals? That’s what he went to school for. I’m not sure what he's doing now. I think he might be working on a novel.”

“Good for him,” Gwen said, just as Eli blanched, “He went to _medical school_ and became a _novelist?”_

Aelia shrugged. “He still writes for the journals.”

She straightened up, tossing the rag back to Eli. "There, all clean."

He brandished it at her like a weapon. "That should teach you not to lean on my case."

Then he rolled his eyes, muttering, "Journals. Bloody hell," and stalked back into the kitchen. The thought of going to medical school and becoming anything other than a doctor seemed too ridiculous for him to fathom. Aelia watched him go with narrowed eyes.

"Did he come out just to make me clean the case?" She said.

"Probably," Gwen turned back to Aelia. “So what’s this bloke’s name?”

“Meraud,” she supplied.

Gwen quirked an eyebrow. “That’s very Cornish isn’t it?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Aelia sighed, and Gwen laughed.

Just then the bell tinkled and the door opened to admit a tall, dark haired man. His eyes were brown and serious, his jaw shadowed by what Gwen had learned was an ever-present scruff. He set his mouth in a grim line and made a beeline for the back corner of the cafe. Gwen let out an irritated sigh.

“What?” Aelia said. Gwen's gaze flickered to her, and she nodded toward the man.

“See him?”

Aelia snuck a glance in his direction. “Tall, dark, probably handsome if he weren’t ten years older than me? Yeah I see him.”

Gwen rolled her eyes and pressed on.

“He’s been coming into the shop every day for a week. He never buys anything, he just… sits there on his computer.”

Aelia raised an eyebrow. “Never buys anything?”

Gwen shook her head. “Well, no, not _never-"_ she recitified,"but it’s always something really small. Like... a muffin. Or an espresso shot. Never anything that warrants sitting around here for hours on end.”

She didn’t realize she was glaring at the stranger until Aelia pointed it out.

“Maybe he's like, a super secret spy for the government. Here to steal Eli's amazing cupcake recipes or something,” she suggested.

Gwen fixed her with a look- _really?_ Aelia held her hands in mock surrender, the effect ruined by the coffee and the scone. "I'm just spitballing. Why don't you just go talk to him?"

"Because- I don't know. What if he's a creep who comes here to watch internet porn, or- What?"

Aelia looked at her strangely for a long moment before bursting out into overzealous laughter. "Oh my God, that's so much worse than mine."

"Yeah, and it's far more plausible," Gwen protested.

"Jeeze, just go _talk_ to him," she said, thankfully quieting. "Worst come to worst and he _is_ a creepy public porn-watcher or whatever, you can kick him out."

Gwen shrugged, "Maybe,” then, after a moment. “His name’s Lance.”

Aelia snorted.

“He sounds lovely,” she said, then cursed as she glanced at the clock on the wall. She popped the remainder of the scone in her mouth and followed it with a great swig of coffee.

“I gotta go,” she said around the pastry. “Wyltt needs me home by four to help him pack. I’ll see you later?”

Gwen nodded distractedly. “Of course.”

She scurried off, a goodbye to Eli thrown over her shoulder, and disappeared down the road. Gwen turned back to Lance.

Aelia was right. At worst she'd have some room free and a weirdo out of her shop. She steeled her nerves and approached the little table in the back.

———

Aelia didn't like driving in Cornwall. It was bad enough that everything else in this country was backwards, but out here in the countryside she had to deal with the additional obstacle that the twisting, turning roads provided. Today it irritated her even more than usual - she found that her tattoo smarted whenever it chafed against her jacket, and it chafed whenever she had to turn the wheel. Which was all the time. So that was why, when she got back into the car, she took a moment to just sit before starting the engine. And in that moment, she noticed that the shop in front of her was no longer vacant.

The storefront, which had long claimed the space across the street from Gwen and Eli’s cafe, had stood empty long before Aelia moved to the village. But now the dilapidated sign proclaiming it as a shop of magical potions and wares had been removed, and its dusty windows were being repainted to say: 

The Dragon’s Hoard

Secondhand Books and Rare Texts

The artist was a pale boy who looked to be around her age. He was tall, and wiry-looking. Half of his dark hair was splattered with red and yellow and plastered to the side of his head, giving the distinct impression that he had run paint-covered hands through it before the color had dried.

Aelia wasn't too surprised by the new arrival. Their shopping district was admittedly sparse, but with the way the village had been growing in recent years, it was only natural that new businesses would crop up. Besides, it was a good thing for her. The university bookstore was famous for overcharging new students, and she could cut the cost if some of her books came from here.

She didn’t realize that she’d been staring at the boy as she devised her plan to evade the high cost of university books until he turned around caught her. She started, only glimpsing a widening flash of blue and the line of a sharp profile before she was jamming her key into the ignition and hightailing it down the street.

By the time she had the courage to take her eyes off the road again, she was well past the village limits and into the wild moors that would wind this road straight up to the cottage.

She groaned loudly in the quiet of the car. Why had that been so embarrassing? Maybe it was the way his eyes had widened when he realized she had been looking at him, or fact that she hadn’t meant to  _look_ at him at all. Maybe it was that she’d gone and panicked and then made it so much worse when she _ran away_ _._ Couldn't do a normal thing like wave or smile, no, because that was apparently beyond her. 

God, she was spending too much time holed up in the cottage.

Those thoughts did well to keep her occupied until she had already gotten out of the car, through the front door, and into their tiny living room, when she realized that she left her coffee behind. She was about to go retrieve it when Merlin called out from the kitchen. “Did you get it?”

Aelia shook her head fondly, made a mental note to get the coffee before it could stink up the car, and went to join him.

Merlin was standing at the counter, staring at the glass bottle placed before him. He had a certain twinkle in his eye, the one he got when he was planning something special or when Aelia did a spell right on her first try. He was young, like he always was when no one else was around- smooth skin, bright blue eyes, and the stubble that he never bothered to fully shave covering his chin and upper lip. He hated to be old when he didn't need to be- he said that it tired him out and that there was no reason for him to be uncomfortable in his own home. Aelia privately thought that there was another reason, but she dared not push him. She had learned very quickly upon moving to their sleepy little village that although Merlin was a very warm, he could also be very secretive about the strangest things. She supposed being alive for 1500 years could do that to a person.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" She leaned against the doorframe, watching him poke at the ship that was folded up inside of the bottle. It was one of his newer hobbies, but it was already starting to take up quite a bit of space in their kitchen. "First Eli and now you."

"Because you're terribly fickle and can't commit to anything to save your life," Merlin said dryly, the effect of it ruined when he stepped away from the counter and placed a kiss to her forehead in greeting.

"Rude," she replied, knocking him gently in the ribs. "Do you want to see it or not?"

“Oh, come on, you know I do,” he said. Aelia smirked and took off her jacket.

She proudly held her arm out to display the writing. Merlin let out low a whistle and stooped to trace over the dark lines. Aelia grit her teeth, hissing involuntarily at his touch. It didn’t really _hurt_ anymore, not like it had when she'd been getting it done, but it was tender in a way she wasn’t yet familiar with.

“Sorry,” Merlin said, noticing her wince. "How was it?”

“It hurt a lot.”

“Did you use that spell I gave you?” Merlin asked. He bent closer still to inspect the redness surrounding the skin.

“I couldn't,” she replied. Merlin frowned up at her. Feeling a bit stupid, she went on. “It wore off by the time I figured out where I wanted the tattoo. I didn't want to recast it with the guy standing right there.”

He hummed knowingly.

"Fickle," he said, straightening momentarily to tap her nose. Aelia resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his words. Merlin didn't have a leg to stand on. She knew for a fact that he'd spent two hours in the chair just deciding if he wanted the bird on his shoulder in color or in black and white.

“The translation is correct, right?” She asked, though she knew that it was. Merlin’s Aramaic was impeccable, and a priest back home had double checked it for her prior to her excursion. Merlin read it for her anyway.

“Kaeis Thomas,” he said softly. His eyes shone suspiciously when he straightened up. “Your mother would be so proud of you Aelia.”

She resisted the urge to tear up at Merlin’s warm smile.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. And if it came out a little choked, who could blame her?

"I can't believe it's been a year" she said. Merlin nodded. "Neither can I," he agreed.

They stood together in an odd silence, each of them lost in their own melancholy. Then Aelia remembered the coffee she’d left in the car and cursed.

“I'll be back in a minute,” she said to his curious frown.

A part of her was glad to get away, to have a minute to herself to think.

The anniversary of her mother's death brought about a new set of worries for Aelia. There were only a couple of months until Thanksgiving, and then until Christmas. When her mom had been alive, she never had to worry about where she'd be for those holidays. And then last year being with her family had been the right thing to do so soon after her death, despite the fact that she had wished desperately to stay with Merlin. He knew her mother better than most of Aelia’s aunts and uncles, even the ones who had magic themselves. Besides, everything there reminded her of her mother. As much as she loved and missed everyone, she wasn’t sure if she could handle the festivities or the same sharp loneliness that had accompanied Christmas Eve again. She'd already decided that she’d return for Thanksgiving, and then spend Christmas here in Cornwall with Merlin. She thought he might like the company.

Plus, he’d promised she could use his network of portals to get home in November without missing too much school. Leaving him alone on Christmas after that would just be heartless, even though he assured her that he didn’t really celebrate Christmas and therefore couldn’t be too disappointed. Aelia could tell he was lying a little bit, because when she’d announced that she would be staying, he’d been more than a little bit pleased. Definitely happier than he’d been last year, politely declining Aelia’s invitation to come home with her.

Merlin was strange sometimes, Aelia thought as she retrieved the cup and threw it in the trash (it was mostly empty anyways). Or maybe eccentric was a better word. It was as if there were different versions of him that came out, depending on the day. Most of the time he was like an older cousin or brother to Aelia- teaching her and supporting her when she needed it. He was always ready with a witty joke or a comforting smile or some profound, though often unsolicited advice. He was down to watch Monty Python with her while drinking shitty beer that his old age really should exempt him from liking. He listened to her rants about art and philosophy and read her terrible poetry. He was openly warm and affectionate, casually sarcastic and sometimes a bit of a nuisance. He alternated between scrubbing her hair with the heel of his hand to make it frizz up and gently kissing her forehead when he knew she was frustrated. He wasn't a terrible cook, but he somehow always managed to burn food when he tried to use magic. He watched football and was scandalized when Aelia called it soccer. He went on rants of his own about history and politics and the etymology of the word porridge, and those rants were the only indicator of his true age. To Aelia, that was Regular Merlin. Merlin the Bloke, Merlin the Friend, Merlin the Legal Guardian And Sole Constant In Aelia’s Life. This was the Merlin who did an aging spell and went into the village to talk to the people there for fun and sold at-home remedies out of their little cottage.

Then there was another Merlin, who was there fairly often, and who Aelia was convinced was the reason Regular Merlin hadn't let her drink until she turned 18. This Merlin was serious, level-headed, and, on the rare instance that the situation called for it, ruthless. He looked at everything with a strategic, dispassionate eye. When Merlin was like this, he went sharp and flinty. He could summon the power of the air and the sea. He was still _Merlin_ \- still kind and merciful, but there was none of that rough joy that usually lived in his eyes. This Merlin was too polished for that- patient and intensely focused in a way Aelia couldn’t even begin to replicate. This Merlin was timeless and powerful with an edge of wildness to him. This Merlin treated Aelia as more of an apprentice than a student- yes she was there to learn, but she was also there to assist. This was the Merlin that mixed potions, summoned spirits, performed rituals. He poured over ancient tomes late into the night, and would only rest when he'd found what he was looking for. This Merlin was suspicious of the strangers that came into the village, sizing them up to see if they could be a threat. He was determined and fiercely protective, with a will crafted out of steel. This was Merlin the Sorcerer. Aelia was only a little afraid of him when he was like this, and then only when he was truly, deeply angry. And Aelia had only ever seen him like that once.

Then there was a last truly distinct side of Merlin. This one wasn’t young, or timeless, or even simply old. This side of Merlin was ancient. He held sadness like a weight around his shoulders and on his chest. This was the Merlin who let silence reign in long stretches, the Merlin who couldn’t bring himself to smile, the Merlin who would sometimes spend hours or days alone in his study, leaving torn books and broken furniture in his wake. This was the Merlin who cried out in the night until Aelia woke him, fresh tears staining his cheeks. This was the Merlin that would allow himself to be shepherded into the kitchen, who would let Aelia fix him a cup of warm milk and sit with him until he calmed down. This was the Merlin who looked for King Arthur everywhere he went.

But this was also the Merlin that told her stories of Camelot and the old days, of the times he had encountered his friends since - new faces over the same souls. Who spoke to her of Gaius and Guinevere and Lancelot and Gwaine and Elyan and Percival and Leon and even Morgana, before she turned. And Arthur. Always of Arthur. Of his bravery and his kindness and his distinct dollop-headedness. Of how he was a fair, just ruler. Of how he loved his people and how his people loved him. Of how Merlin loved him. He never said that last part out loud, but Aelia knew.

This was Merlin the Man. Merlin who loved a king that had died 1500 years ago, Merlin who had dedicated his life to waiting for his return, Merlin who would continue to wait until long after Aelia herself was dead if that’s how long it took.

Aelia wished, for his sake, that it wouldn’t.

By the time she had trotted back into into the house after taking the trash out to the curb, Merlin was wholly occupied by his project, and she was considering making herself more coffee. She’d probably need it for tonight.

“I saw Guinevere at the cafe,” Aelia said into the silence. “She said you sopped in to said goodbye.”

“I did,” Merlin said, somewhat distractedly.

“And she still doesn't remember,” Aelia continued.

Merlin chortled. “Didn’t expect her to.”

Aelia sighed. “I still think it’s odd. Elyan was there too. Eli, I mean.”

“Why do you think it's odd?” Merlin said.

“Well, they look exactly like you said they did in Camelot for one,” Aelia said. “I thought you told me they looked different when they were reincarnated. Maybe... maybe that means something, you know?”

Merlin sighed and continued to work on his project. Most days, he’d use magic to stand each part of the ship up until it blew full sail across the glass of the bottle, but some days, like today, he’d use his hands. Aelia thought it was because he liked the extra challenge. Either way, the result was always meticulously and technically perfect, which was why Merlin enjoyed it, which was why there were at least 50 of them already scattered around the cottage, which is why every one of Aelia’s numerous cousins were getting a ship in a bottle handcrafted by Merlin of legend for Christmas.

“I have met many of my friends in many of their lives,” he said, “sometimes they have looked like they did in Camelot, sometimes they have not. Sometimes they were completely different people.”

He managed to get the hook around the mast of the ship and bring it to sail. Finished.

Merlin straightened up, dusted off his hands, and turned to her. “My friend’s souls are restless. Sometimes I think they like to have a romp around the living just to remember what it’s like. I don’t believe that Guinevere and Elyan being here has as much significance as you think.” He leaned in to press a light kiss to her forehead, meant to reassure. Close enough that Aelia could see the trace of disappointment in his eyes. Aelia stared at him as he went about mounting the bottle on a wooden block and sighed. Never had she met someone as hopeful or as masochistic as Merlin could be. It was like he _wanted_ to be lonely when the souls he had known as a young man lived amongst them. Though maybe it was the apparent age difference brought about by the spell he used when he went out- the Merlin that roamed the village was vastly older than the one that stayed at home making ships in bottles. But soon... soon he wouldn't be. Soon he'd be young again.

“How often do you do this?” She asked. The thought came to her suddenly and refused to be ignored. She knew Merlin had lived on the edge of this village for centuries, and that no one could recall a time when an Emrys hadn’t inhabited the little cottage on the lake along with the odd niece or nephew or cousin. But of course, no one could be expected to think that it was the same Emrys.

"Well, I'd like to make a bottle a day," he answered. "But that isn't always feasible-"

"No, stupid," Aelia rolled her eyes. "How often do you- I dunno, de-age. Replace yourself."

“Oh. Well, usually when the last person who can remember me coming is dead,” Merlin said conversationally. “Or at least far enough away that I don’t think they’ll ever return.”

Aelia frowned. “That’s morbid,” she said.

Merlin shrugged. “Morbid but effective,” he said. Then he straightened up, the bottle properly mounted on its wooden block. Aelia made a mental note to give that one to Mia- she’d like the dragon on the sails.

"This time I was waiting for your birthday," he said significantly. Aelia nodded- it made sense. Once she was eighteen she could legally live wherever and with whomever she liked- there was nothing stopping a wizened Wyltt Emrys from retiring to London while his young niece stayed in his old house with his nephew.

“You’ll want to get some rest before we head out,” Merlin said. Aelia fought the urge to groan, she really did, but it slipped out anyhow.

“Hey now,” Merlin reprimanded her gently. “It’s important we do this. The Sidhe are the ones who protect the Isle.”

 _And Arthur with it,_ Aelia thought but dared not say. Instead she said, "I get that, but why can't we do it at, like, four o'clock, y'know? Why does it have to be so late at night?"

 _It_ was an excessive ritual Merlin performed once every 100 years, offering gifts to the Sidhe in exchange for another century of their protection over the Isle and the king that slept at its heart. It required a full moon at midnight, a drop of warlock’s blood, gifts of gold and jewels, and an assortment of treats and drinks. The moon and the blood acted to call the faeiries while the gold and food were bargaining chips, meant to entice them into actually granting them an audience. Aelia had thought it was a bit unfair that they were forced to show their hand before the Sidhe even showed themselves. Merlin had chuckled when she'd said so.

“You’re right,” he’d said, ruffling her hair conspiratorially. “But the Sidhe don’t care about fair, they care that I bring more shortcake than I did last time.”

Aelia honestly didn’t know what more they could possibly ask for, looking at the bags that stood like little soldiers in a row at their back door. Every food group was represented at length, especially the sweets. As for the gold, Aelia wouldn’t have been surprised to find that Merlin had robbed the village’s only jewelry shop. He had truly outdone himself.

“Remind me how the ritual works again?” Aelia asked sarcastically, her eyes fixed on the resplendent display the bags made up.

“We set out the offerings then call on the fairies with a blood sacrifice,” Merlin said from where he was now perched at the tabled, carefully polishing the bottle, and ignoring Aelia's groan of "I was kidding!"

“Then we petition them for another century of peace and hope that they accept.”

“I _know,_ seriously, we've only gone over it a thousand times” Aelia huffed and sauntered over to one of the bags for an apple, only to feel a nonexistent hand slapping hers away.

“Hey!” She exclaimed, spinning around to find Merlin with his hands innocently full of ship, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Rude,” she muttered.

“That's for the faeries. Since you _know_ so much, you should know that you're not allowed to touch it,” Merlin said, only a little bit obvious in his amusement. “There’s food in the fridge if you want something.”

Aelia very resolutely did _not_ pout as she stalked over to the fridge and opened it- only to find one measly bag of mandarin oranges and a few miniature cheese wheels. Sparse couldn't begin to describe it.

“You forgot to do the shopping for us too,” she said reproachfully.

“It’s your turn this week,” Merlin said. “I made the chore wheel for a reason. I’d hate to think my efforts went to waste.”

Aelia checked the proffered chore wheel. Sure enough, her name was under the little shopping cart Merlin had drawn. She was pretty sure that when she'd left, Merlin's had been in the same place. Her eyes narrowed.

"You moved it," she said.

"I did no such thing. In fact, I'm offended that you would accuse me of such deviant behavior."

"You're a terrible liar."

Merlin shrugged and said nothing, continuing to polish his bottle.

“Uugghh, fine. I’ll go do the shopping,” she said.

“Wait until tomorrow,” Merlin said. “We still have a couple bags of chicken tenders in the freezer. I’d rather you slept until it was time for us to go.”

Aelia nodded. Even if things went perfectly, tonight would be exhausting. Blood rituals took a lot of energy. Just calling the fairies was enough to send some sorcerer’s into comas, if the stories Aelia heard were to be believed.

She grabbed one of the oranges and trudged back to her room, thoughts of coffee long gone. Sleep was best, but food was important too and Aelia hadn’t eaten anything since the cafe. Besides Eli’s scones, but those didn’t really count as food. They were too fluffy to be anything besides solidified air.

Aelia finished the orange, covered her new tattoo with vaseline, and made for bed. Despite the grey light that dappled her comforter, she was suddenly exhausted. She only had time to wonder if it was Merlin’s doing before her head hit the pillow and she was ushered into the warm pull of sleep.

———

Merlin decided to wait until dinner was ready to wake Aelia. She would be hard-pressed to get out of bed without food to motivate her. She reminded him of Arthur in the morning- conversely rising before the sun to get in some work or some exercise, or sleeping straight through her alarm until Merlin had to wake her lest she be late for school. He had hoped that starting university would settle her into a more manageable routine, but to his dismay it had not.

Merlin wanted her to sleep as much as she could tonight.

The ritual to summon the Sidhe was not to be undertaken lightly. It was draining for the warlock whose blood was being used, fashioning them into both a beacon and a tether for the faeries. Even if the faeries refused the call, the energy that went into the ritual was still expended.

Once, many hundred of years ago, Merlin had attempted the ritual alone. He remembered warmth behind his eyes, and the feeling that he was slowly slipping away from reality. He’d woken up in the middle of his own faerie circle, all of his offerings gone along with his chance to speak with the Sidhe queen for another century.

Tonight, Aelia would be the one to call the faeries. It was a tricky bit of magic- most of his apprentices in the past had not been powerful enough to undertake it. But Aelia’s magic reflected her mother’s tenfold. Merlin privately suspected that it could one day equal his own, insofar as raw strength was concerned. 1500 years of practice, however, gave Merlin a finesse so fine it could never truly be replicated. Which is why Aelia had volunteered to act as the tether while Merlin did the talking. In the past, Merlin had been in her position and given his apprentices a script to read from. But tonight, for the first time in about 900 years, Merlin would be able to talk to the Sidhe himself. The thought was thrilling, yet utterly terrifying when he considered what his apprentice would have to go through.

 _Kaeis could have done it,_ the thought comes unbidden to his mind, _Kaeis could have been the tether and beacon. If she were here._

But Aelia’s mother was dead, and Merlin had her only daughter in his care. A daughter who he himself loved dearly, who was as selfless as she was talented, who had insisted Merlin have the chance to speak to the Sidhe despite his protests.

He remembered how she had broached the subject. They’d been eating dinner, something delicious and distinctly Mediterranean in origin. It had been the first time Aelia had made something Kaeis taught her since she had died. Merlin had asked for her help with the ritual a few days previous. She had agreed, like she always agreed, and now they were figuring out the finer points of the plan.

“Do you know what it’s like,” he had asked her when she’d volunteered to act as the tether, “to feel yourself begin to die? To feel your magic siphoning away into an endless abyss, and you’re not sure if it will return or if they will take like it’s another offering? How can you possibly prepare yourself to hear the call of another world while your blood is spilled on the stones beneath your feet, grounding your soul to the Earth? To connect with energy that is not your own, and to feel the _snap_ of it leaving you, and the rush of your own magic returning?”

Aelia had squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye over a plate of dolma, chin tilted, all defiance and confidence and something almost regal about her. She looked too much like- no. Merlin dared not to think of it.

“I think that I’m strong enough. Do you?”

And Merlin had to admit that she was, of course she was.

Merlin harkened back to the first time he met Aelia. She’d been a child then- scrawny arms and scraped knees, amber eyes too big for her small face, wild hair sticking up at odd angles.

He remembered her magic too, a raw and potent thing, calling out to animals and bending the very will of nature to match her own. It wasn’t a far cry to what Merlin had done at that age- the unrestricted, unparalleled joy of that kind of power, the complete synchronicity with the elements and their energies, the endless possibilities that could become a reality with a _snap,_ before adulthood and awareness of one’s abilities sent them tumbling back to square one.

And he remembered how he had recognized her soul. It was old- ancient even, with almost as many years in this world as Merlin’s. He remembered that the most- the sight of something old and familiar staring out from such young eyes.

The power was still there, Merlin knew. It was just about giving her the tools, the language to control it. To leave it be unless she willed it. He still thought about the time loop she had thrust them all into because she had had too much fun on her birthday. Merlin only laughed at that in hindsight.

The power was still there, but so was that old, familiar energy. Sometimes when Merlin looked at her, he swore it was Mo-

_No._

The _ding_ of the oven knocked Merlin from his thoughts. He retrieved the chicken and set it out to cool, and went to wake his apprentice.

Aelia's room was dark; the clock at her bedside read 10:00. They still had two hours to make it to the island, but Merlin wanted to be punctual. There was a lot to do, beginning with rousing her.

But to his surprise, she was already awake, scrolling through one of those social media apps that Merlin could never quite grasp on her phone.

“I thought you'd still be sleeping,” he said. Aelia glanced up.

“I heard you banging around in the kitchen,” she said, somehow managing her trademark blend of snark and affection despite the sleep still in her eyes. “And I smelled food.”

Merlin rolled his eyes fondly and reached over to scrub at her hair. She smacked his hand away without taking her gaze off of some article or Twitter or whatever it was she was reading. Maybe it was her intuition, maybe it was the way she smiled as she railed into him, but it was times like these when she reminded him more and more of-

 _No._ Merlin shook the thought from his head.

“Wash up, then come eat,” he said with a final, gentle cuff around her ear. Aelia waved him off as he returned to the kitchen. They’d leave the washing up until later, he’d already decided. There was too much to prepare without having to worry about a couple of dishes.

Aelia emerged from her room, fresh-faced and raring to go as soon as Merlin had placed the chicken on the plate, wearing a thick coat and a pair of practical boots. Merlin approved- September nights in Cornwall were chilly enough on land. The lake was bound to be even colder.

As she sat down, Merlin gathered the necessary items for the spell- the ceremonial dagger, gifted to him by the previous Sidhe queen, a few pieces of chalk, some incense, and a small roll of parchment tucked into a tube the size of Merlin’s thumb. This he threaded on a leather cord and handed to Aelia.

“Hold onto that,” he said. She nodded and put it around her neck between bites.

“Let’s go through the ritual again,” Merlin said. He could see that Aelia was just barely resisting the urge to groan when she said, “We’ve gone through it a thousand times.”

"And yet this afternoon you tried to eat food intended for the faeries," he snapped.

Aelia quieted, poking sheepishly at her chicken.

Merlin sighed. He hadn't meant to be harsh.

“Once more,” he insisted. “Please. This is too delicate. We cannot be careless.”

Aelia sighed, put her fork down, and folded her hands on the table in front of her.

“We get to the island on the boat,” she said, with the air of someone who had recited the same speech too many times before. “When we arrive, we unload all of the supplies and take them to the summit. After we’re completely unpacked, I’ll use the chalk to draw the design you taught me.”

Merlin produced a sheet of paper and a pencil from his pocket and set them on the table. “Show me.”

Aelia wordlessly began to draw, carefully marking the cardinal directions on each side of the symbol in accordance with where it would lay on the stone. When she was finished, she pushed it back toward Merlin. He nodded- it was perfect, but some tiny, paranoid part of him feared that saying so would jinx the whole endeavor. He would tell her later, after the ritual.

“And then?” He prompted. Aelia refolded her hands.

“Then we place the offerings around the circle at different points,” She pulled the pencil and paper back over to her and marked where the items would to be.

“Here's where we put the food, here's where we put the wine, and here's where we put the gold and jewels.”

She hadn’t needed to know that- Merlin had long since memorized the proper placement of the offerings. But he was glad she did. Glad she had been so thorough throughout this process.

“Then I stand at the center of the symbol and light the incense,” she said, “and right at midnight I cast the spell to call on the Sidhe. After I say the incantation, I bleed on the parchment andthe stones, and the Sidhe come to us.”

“Hopefully,” Merlin amended.

“Hopefully,” she agreed.

But Merlin knew that the Sidhe would show. They had never failed to meet with him before.

“Repeat the spell for me again,” he said.

“Yfelcîegan wægn Sidhe, reccendes râd duguð îeg. Mægð mîn dêaðrêaf hagian êower intobewrixl−an êower andweardnes,” she complied easily.

Her eyes didn't glow gold like they usually did when she cast- the lack of intent rendered the words little more than a piece of poetry. But Merlin sighed in relief. Aelia knew what she was doing.

“Remember,” he said, “the spell is going to eat at your strength. Don’t panic. It will return to you.”

At least he hoped it would. It had returned to the last apprentice who undertook the spell. Granted, it had left her in a week-long coma, but Aelia was far more powerful than she had been. Merlin knew, in his heart, that she could handle it. But that didn’t stop his hands from shaking as he cleared away the plates.

“Take the bags to the boat,” he told her when he caught her glancing worriedly in his direction. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

Aelia nodded, uneasy, but did as he instructed. In the meantime, Merlin went to work on his aging spell- it was better to be safe than sorry. He could release it once they were on the island.

Aging was never a pleasant experience. It felt clumsy, unreal- from the strange tickle at his scalp and face as the hair on his head and chin grew long and white to the way his bones grew frail as his skin spotted and wrinkled before his eyes. Strange in the way his throat grew scratchier, his tongue almost imperceptibly heavier in his mouth.

He was old again.

With his disguise firmly in place, Merlin doddered out the door and down to the shore where the boat waited for them. Aelia was squeezing the last of the packs firmly in at the bottom and arranging Merlin’s small boat chair so it wouldn’t fall the moment he leaned back. She offered her arm out to help him in, holding the boat steady as he teetered about and finally settled. She leapt in after, sat on the bench opposite to him, and pulled a thick red scarf that Merlin had never seen before out of her pocket. He frowned.

“Where did you get that?” He asked, and very resolutely did not cringe at how his voice rasped. Goodness, they couldn’t get to the island fast enough. He whispered a word to the boat, sending them off as he awaited her reply.

“I made it,” Aelia said. If Merlin didn’t know her any better, he’d say she was blushing.

“You made that?” He said incredulously. “With magic?”

He could barely make out her fond eye-roll in the darkness. That was another thing he hated about aging. His eyesight was worse.

“No,” she laughed. “With a loom.”

Merlin shifted. “I didn’t know you could knit,” he said. Aelia hummed quietly in response.

He wasn’t sure if he was more stunned by this hidden talent, or by his own shock. For some reason, he’d thought she had lost the ability to surprise him. Clearly she hadn't.

“I can make one for you too,” she offered. The water was quiet around them. “I know that you spilled bat eyes on yours.”

Merlin cringed at the memory, both of the spill itself and of the time he’d gone to slip the scarf on after. He’d completely forgotten about the accident until he felt the tiny eyeballs, cold and slimy against his neck. He'd then proceeded to squeal like a schoolchild and fling the accursed thing across the room, while Aelia laughed at him from her perch on the couch.

“A new scarf sounds lovely,” Merlin said before she could open her mouth again. Aelia laughed openly, the sound of it echoing across the still lake.

The journey was long, but relatively peaceful- they broke up the silence with random anecdotes and jokes and stories they hadn’t bothered to bring up in months.

“Tell me about my mother,” Aelia said when they were halfway to the island. There was nothing but black water surrounding them on all sides. She sounded like she was dozing. Merlin let her- she’d need her strength- and said, “Your mother. Your mother was one of the greatest warlocks I’ve ever known.”

Aelia smiled faintly. 

Merlin talked about Kaeis, about how young she had been when they first met - “Only a little older than you were when I met you”- and about the adventures she was always dragging Merlin into back when his aging spell only took him up to his mid-fifties. Goodness, it really had been so long. Thirty years between Kaeis and her daughter, and twenty-two of them Merlin had spent on his own. He’d forgotten how good it was to have company. Merlin kept talking long after he was sure Aelia had fallen asleep.

He talked about Kaeis, age 18, wrapping the village around her finger with a curl of her dimples and a flick of her hair. About the swirl of her miniskirts as she flirted with Tom Smith, the press of her heels in the pavement at Falmouth. About how she used magic, shaped it, breathed it, wrote it into her very being. About how she was always there when Merlin needed her most, how she was a constant, never-ending flurry of hard determination and sweet smiles. About how she hijacked the tv to watch her soaps the same way Aelia did to watch Doctor Who. About how she would use his kitchen to cook and about the memorable time Merlin accidentally put her cannabis extract in one of his poultices and laughingly watched her walk around high as a kite when she panicked and drank the entire thing herself. He talked until the boat hit the rocky shore, jarring Aelia awake.

“We’re here,” he said. Finally, blessedly here. He released the aging spell with a flourish, letting his hair recede and thicken, letting his skin smooth out again. Aelia’s face twisted - the aging spell wasn’t much fun to watch in reverse. At least when he was getting old it looked natural, if a little fast. Turning young again, however… he couldn’t fault her for finding it disturbing.

When he returned to himself, they unpacked the bags. It was far more efficient work split between the both of them, and they reached the summit of the island without any trouble. By then, they had half an hour until midnight.

“Quickly,” Merlin said. They began unpacking the supplies.

The stone circle stood just beyond the shadow of the tower, and the moon provided them ample light to see by. Aelia took care of the food, while Merlin set out the jewels and the wine. Soon enough, all that was left to do was to draw the circle.

Aelia took the longest piece of chalk, carefully drawing the initial shape on the stone before bringing the design into the center. It was imperative that the circle was drawn in one continuous line. Merlin could see her fingers clenched tightly around the chalk, careful not to break it but equally afraid to drop it. She was the only one allowed inside now. Merlin hovered about anxiously all the same, watchful for any mistake. It wasn't that Merlin didn’t believe in Aelia. It was that he was very, very afraid for her.

“Breathe,” he called to her.

The circle was completed five minutes before midnight. Aelia walked around the edges, readjusting the offerings according to Merlin’s nitpicking instructions. Then at one point he yelled something about the placement of the wine, and she stood up to shout back, “That’s where it is already!” and something happened.

Maybe it was the angle of the moonlight, or that the way the wind caught her hair, but suddenly, like a superimposed image, Merlin saw someone else standing in Aelia’s place. Someone taller, older; her frame sharply defined by the years and hardships. Someone with longer hair and lighter eyes and a proud, queenly demeanor. Morgana was suddenly before him in the defiant tilt of Aelia’s chin and the careless toss of her head. Then as soon as the image came it was gone, and Aelia was just Aelia again.

Merlin shivered.

He had been getting those flashes more and more lately, as Aelia got older and her powers grew. He shook himself. There was no time to dwell on it. Midnight was fast approaching.

“One minute!” He called.

Aelia hurried to the center of the circle. Her hands trembled minutely as she lit the incense at her feet, then took the scroll and the knife out of her pocket. Merlin could see the forcible rise and fall of her chest as she waited.

“Now!” He shouted as the clock struck midnight.

“Yfelcîegan wægn Sidhe, reccendes râd duguð îeg. Mægð mîn dêaðrêaf hagian êower intobewrixl−an êower andweardnes!” She called into the night. On the last word she cut the back of her forearm, just as Merlin taught her. He watched as her blood spilled across the parchment and wet the stones.

Then a light like the brightest star burst out from inside of Aelia and she screamed.

“Aelia!” Merlin yelled, but he dared not cross the circle. He didn’t know what would happen if he did, had always told his apprentices to stay put no matter what they saw. He followed his own advice with great difficulty.

The screaming stopped. The light poured from Aelia into the earth and sky above her. She fell to her knees, but it only grew brighter- more intense. Merlin heard whispers fluttering around him. The light began to form a dome around the circle.

But something was wrong. The dome wasn’t balancing out and turning transparent like it was supposed to. Instead it grew deeper, thicker- almost wall-like. Merlin couldn't see Aelia anymore, could barely see anything. The light was blinding him.

It was then that Merlin knew with a sudden, sinking certainty: something had gone terribly awry.

———

Aelia couldn’t see.

She had done the spell- said the words, bled on the stones- and then she _couldn’t fucking see._ It was all bright, horrible light. No shapes, no people, no _Merlin._ And it _hurt-_ it hurt like nothing had ever hurt before. Like burning alive, but worse.

Then, all of a sudden, the pain was gone. Aelia could no longer feel the ground beneath her knees, but that wasn't a bad thing. Instead it was peaceful. This wasn't exhausting or hungry or empty, like what Merlin had described, it was... tranquil. Like the glassy surface of the lake at dawn as the sun peaked over the horizon, before rising to hide behind the clouds.

Then the voices came. Soft, lilting voices. Beautiful voices. Voices like angels must have, she thought. They were speaking to her.

 _“The dragon girl,”_ they said. “ _We've been waiting for you.”_

Then there were arms around her, warm, safe arms, like that of her mother’s. Aelia sighed.

 _“Dragon girl,”_ one voice stood out from the rest.  _“Take a message for your warlock.”_

“Anything,” Aelia said. The comforting arms tightened around her.

 _“Tell him,”_ and the voices around them giggled, only to be hushed by their leader.  _“Tell him it is done.”_

She frowned. "What-?"

And then the arms around her were gone and she knew no more.

The next moment, Aelia woke up on the hard stone. Her arm was healed despite what was quite obviously her blood staining the stones near her head, and Merlin was sprinting toward her.

“Aelia!” He shouted. He crashed down at her side, wrapping her in a blanket and holding her tightly.

“What-” she swallowed. Her throat was _so dry-_ “What did they say?”

"Doesn't matter," he said.

"Merlin, what-?" Then she looked up and saw the scene around them.

It was like a hurricane had torn through the island, destroying all that stood in its path. The stone beneath them had cracked straight down the center, leaving them sitting on the fault line. The offerings were scattered around the circle, strewn about like children's toys in the wind. She heard what sounded like a stifled sob, and looked back to see Merlin hiding his face in her shoulder.

“It didn’t work,” he whispered brokenly. “It didn’t work.”

Aelia could only hold on as Merlin fell apart beside her.

———

Arthur was underwater.

He did not know where, he did not know how. But he knew, with a rising panic, that he was underwater. He could feel the rocky bed of sand under his boots and he couldn’t see the surface. Neither of these factors boded well for him. His armor was weighing him down, and his lungs were screaming, and he needed to think, but mostly he needed to  _breathe._

He forced down the quell of fear in his chest, struggled out of his chainmail, and kicked up.

Arthur broke the surface to find himself in the middle of a vast, somewhat dirty, lake. He took wide, shaking gulps of air and leaned back, floating like Sir Bors had taught him so many years ago- _breathe in, lean back, very good Arthur._

Behind him, a strangely familiar tower loomed up from the water, and before him a line of lights twinkled warmly. He decided to swim towards those. They seemed closer, and they looked like they would provide more comfort than the darkness of the island.

He couldn't remember how he got here.

He knew that he had been dying, that he _had_  died _._  He remembered pain, and a battle, and a blade slicing through his sternum, and  _Mordred,_ oh Mordred. His youngest knight. Barely a boy, and if Merlin was to be believed, twisted by fate to become Arthur’s mortal enemy.

_Merlin._

Arthur remembered Merlin.

Those last days- Merlin carrying him through the woods, Merlin tending to his wounds, Merlin feeding him, keeping him alive until he couldn’t anymore. Merlin who had _magic._

He swam a bit faster towards shore.

———

The journey to the cottage was silent, and Aelia did not sleep.

Merlin had told her to leave their supplies where they lay.

“The offerings are still theirs,” he’d said, “even if they didn’t answer.”

He hadn’t said anything since.

Part of Aelia was glad for it- Merlin’s reticence allowed her time to reflect on what she had experienced on the island.

She had felt when the beacon went up. That had been exactly as Merlin described. Something ancient and powerful and _hungry_ had latched onto her magic and sucked at it like a leech. There had been pain and exhaustion and hopelessness. And then suddenly it was gone. Her magic returned, not like a rubber band snapping, but like water being poured slowly into her mouth by a gentle hand. And then something, or rather _someone_ had spoken to her. Remembering it was like remembering a fever dream- all she had was the rustle of soft voices, a warm embrace, a deep set calm that found its way momentarily into her bones, and three words that stood out above it all - _It is done._ Those words were important, though she couldn't remember why.

She peered across the boat at Merlin.

He hadn’t bothered to recast the aging spell. The way he had curled into himself since ushering her away from the stones spoke to the deep-seated grief that rolled off of him in waves. Merlin couldn't be comforted right now, nor did he want comfort. Instead he wanted space that Aelia wasn't sure she could afford to give him. There had been something about the way the voices had spoken to her... something that impressed the importance of their message.

She'd wait until they reached the cottage, and then she would tell him about it.

When they reached the shore, Merlin helped her out of the boat. Her legs unexpectedly shook with tiredness as they climbed the hill to their back door, and Merlin soon gave up supporting her as she walked, opting to simply lift her onto his back. The action harkened back to Aelia’s first weeks in Cornwall, when she would fall asleep outside by the fire in the midst of Merlin’s lessons and wake up to the old sorcerer carrying her to bed as if she were a child. It lent an odd sense of normalcy to the strangeness of the night.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Merlin nodded, but his mind was far away. Aelia couldn’t blame him.

“When we get inside I have something to tell you,” she said.

“It can wait until morning,” Merlin replied.

“No,” she sighed. “It can’t.”

Merlin said nothing.

By the time they reached the cottage, she had almost succumbed to exhaustion. Merlin set her down outside the back porch, holding her arm to keep her from swaying.

"Get ready," he muttered.

"What-?"

He shoved her across the threshold. All at once, Aelia felt the bulk of her energy return to her in a rush that left her dizzily grasping at the kitchen counter. Merlin reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

“Breathe,” he said. “Just breathe.”

Aelia took a moment, then straightened.

“What was that,” she gasped.

“A healing charm,” Merlin said, the usual twinkle in his eye replaced with concern. “I cast it back on the island, but it didn’t work.”

Aelia didn’t need to ask why, because she already knew there were only a few circumstances under which Merlin’s magic could fail- either the subject was already dead, or something even more powerful was in its way.

“The Sidhe,” she said. “So they _were_ there.”

Merlin let out a frustrated sigh and paced away. “Yes. They came and they refused to speak to us.”

Aelia hesitated for a long moment, watching Merlin rake a hand through his wild hair, before she said, “What if- what if they didn’t? What if they did come, just...not to you?”

He turned to face her, one eyebrow raised. She continued. “Listen, when I went under, or whatever, for the spell...something sort of happened.”

Merlin folded his arms and nodded. “What was it?”

Aelia sighed. “See that’s the thing, I don’t really remember. It’s like...like flashes. I remember- pain, and my magic left me, but then it came back. And then there was this golden light and these voices...”

“Do you remember what they said?” Merlin asked carefully.

“Not all of it,” she replied. “But I remember they said something about something being done. Yeah, actually, that’s exactly what they said. They said _it is done._ And then...I think then I woke up.”

Merlin studied her closely. There was a complicated look on his face.

“I’m not crazy,” she said.

“I don’t think that you are,” he said. “But, Aelia, I don’t think that what you saw was real. I think it was the result of the spell.”

Aelia scoffed, unwilling to believe it.

“How do you know?”

“Because I saw those visions as well, when I was in your place,” Merlin explained patiently. “The golden light, the voices? The Sidhe don’t appear like that. It was just a dream.”

Despite the unwavering calm of his tone, she spied the crestfallen droop to his shoulders.

"Merlin-"

“You should go to bed,” he said. “We have a big day ahead of us, what with me leaving and all.”

"But-"

“Aelia, please.”

She huffed, but made for her room, stopping at the door.

“I know you don’t believe me,” she said quietly. “But it was real. Whatever I heard, whatever I saw- I know what dreaming is Merlin. That wasn’t it.”

Merlin didn’t turn around. “Goodnight Aelia.”

His tone brokered no arguments. She sighed and slipped inside without further protest.

———

Before Aelia had come to live with him, Merlin’s study had just been another room to store his books. After, it was Merlin’s place to retreat.

It wasn’t that Aelia was exactly barred from the room. But when she was there it was because she had been invited or because of an emergency. There was a difference between the study, with it’s private collection under spelled lock and key, and say, the stacks in the basement, where Aelia could read anything the books deemed appropriate. It was the only room in the house besides his own bedroom that he demanded she knock before she enter.

The study was located in the back corner of the house, facing the lake, off the sitting room. It was huge, much bigger than the cottage technically permitted (what the cottage technically permitted was a broom closet). The ceiling stretched past the attic due to a nifty little space warping spell he’d picked up in Tibet. The walls were a warm burgundy, and covered with shelves that housed his journals and knick-knacks. The books in here were advanced, some even beyond Merlin’s knowledge. Funny little instruments littered his many side-tables, from small telescopes to mortar and pestle sets. One of the larger tables, shoved into the only corner without bookshelves, housed a small potion-making kit. His larger one he stored in the kitchen, with a full set of herbs and a large cauldron. In the center of the room stood his desk, a modest, round, mahogany piece, with more than enough room for two people to work comfortably. There were a pair of high backed chairs on either side. It was there that he taught Aelia, tested her skills, and helped her with uni homework. Merlin loved that desk. But that was not what he was interested in that night. Instead Merlin made for the fireplace, where a pair of mismatched, overlarge armchairs stood. He collapsed into the one closest to the hearth. With a whispered spell, the fire blazed to life. Merlin pulled off his jacket, toed off his shoes, sunk further into the comforting warmth of the chair, and finally breathed.

Of course, the second his body relaxed, his mind picked right up where it had left off.

The Sidhe hadn’t come. Or maybe they had, and hadn’t shown themselves to him. He pressed his fingers to his eyes tiredly. He hated lying to Aelia, but he didn’t want her to worry about what she’d seen. What she _thought_ she’d seen, Merlin corrected himself. There was a good chance that everything she had experienced had been a dream, the result of the magic being dragged out of her by the spell.

But what if it _had_ been a dream, and what Aelia had seen was true anyway? A tremor ran down Merlin’s spine. What if she were a Seer? Like _she_ had been? What if his sweet little apprentice was becoming-

_No-_

_Yes-_ he couldn't keep pushing these thoughts away because they frightened him.

What if she was becoming Morgana? What if that’s what he had felt all those years ago, seeing the ancientness of her soul? What if she was Morgana, reincarnated? Merlin hadn’t seen her come back yet, hadn’t thought she _could._ But what if? What if she were here, under Merlin’s very roof? What if she were someone he held dear?

 _She was someone you held dear the first time around, too,_ his subconscious reminded him. _A_ _nd then you poisoned her._

Merlin slammed his closed fists against the arms of the chair, ignoring the stab of ice in his chest at that thought. _No._ He'd been young and stupid back then, taking everyone’s advice but his own. Even if Aelia _were_ Morgana, things would be different this time, because Merlin would be there to help her. They _had_ to be.

And who knew? Maybe Aelia had been visited after all, and all his worries about Seers and Morgana were for naught. 

But the Sidhe hadn’t taken any offerings. If they had spoken to anyone, they should have taken some of the offerings. Nothing had been missing, Merlin knew, even though it had been scattered so thoughtlessly about. Then there was what they had told her:  _it is done._ Merlin had no clue what that could possibly mean. He sighed and let his hands fall open against the armrests.

No, that wasn’t quite true, was it? He closed his eyes tiredly. Merlin knew exactly what that could possibly mean. He just couldn’t get his hopes up.

He tipped his head back and tried to let his thoughts drift, but they refused.

The Sidhe hadn’t answered them- no, they hadn’t answered _him._ The first time he got to speak to them for over 900 years, and they couldn’t be bothered to grant him a few minutes of their time. All of the questions he’d intended to ask were still burning in his mind, but they all fell away in the face of one in particular. Or rather one set in particular.

Arthur. Where was he? Was he safe? Did he know that time was passing? Did he know anything at all? If he could be happy, was he?

Would he wake soon?

Merlin hadn’t let himself linger on thoughts of Arthur in awhile. It didn’t help him. But as he lay destitute, staring at the empty armchair across from him, he could almost see Arthur lounging in it. Light from the fire glinted off of his golden hair, his mouth open wide as he laughed. Merlin took stock of the image. Arthur’s soft eyes, blue like cornflowers, the smallest lines wrinkling their edges. The sharp line of his jaw and the modest yet undeniable cut of his cheekbones. His straight nose and soft mouth, probably red because he refused to stop picking at it no matter how many times Merlin reminded him not to. God, he could've done with some chapstick back in Camelot. Merlin imagined telling Arthur about something as silly and modern and stupidly useful as chapstick.

 _“Chapstick?”_ Arthur would say, the ironic twist of his mouth and quirk of his eyebrow mocking Merlin with their every move.  _“That’s not_ real, Mer _lin. You’ve obviously just made that up.”_

Merlin laughed to himself. “If Gaius said it you’d believe him.”

_“Because Gaius is my court physician, not my idiot manservant.”_

And Arthur’s grin would let Merlin know he was teasing, but Merlin wouldn’t be able to resist jabbing back with-

“Well at least I’m not a dollopheaded king.”

And Arthur would laugh, and probably reach over and scrub Merlin’s hair like Merlin did to Aelia, and settle back in the armchair looking so relaxed, so completely at home that Merlin’s very bones ached at the thought of it.

1500 years had not eliminated the hurt that came with the thought of Arthur, hadn’t stopped Merlin’s desperate wishing that he would just _wake up already, you absolute clotpole_. The subject of his death was still raw despite the time that had passed, a wound that would never quite heal, not until Arthur returned.

If he ever returned.

Merlin was suddenly hit with a wave of loneliness so acute and dwelling he buckled under the weight of it. It wasn’t the loneliness he felt before Aelia had come to live with him-that loneliness was general, mundane. This loneliness was specific to one person and one person only. This loneliness was the very reason that he rarely let himself dwell on thoughts of Arthur. This loneliness was what kept him here, next to this godforsaken lake. This loneliness was what forced him to seek out the Sidhe, century after century, because if he couldn’t have Arthur back he’d be damned if he wouldn’t keep him safe. This loneliness had followed him from the moment he set Arthur’s body adrift in the lake of Avalon, because this loneliness was more than simple loneliness. This loneliness was made of grief and something else, something Merlin couldn’t speak to. He tried to breath around it and he choked, bending forward like a tree in a storm. Tears slid down his cheeks without his notice. A hoarse sob echoed from his throat in the shape of Arthur’s name, of the curve of his smile, of the way he clapped Merlin on the shoulder and said,  _No man is worth your tears._

God it had been so long. So  _long._

“Please," he said to the empty room, curling up in the chair and feeling every one of the years he had spent without Arthur. “ _Please._ Just give him back. Please, give him _back_. _Please.”_

He must have fallen asleep like that, crying and begging and hugging his knees, because the next thing he was aware of was Aelia’s scream.

———

Aelia woke up for the second time that night to the sound of branches snapping outside. At first she thought it was an animal, until she heard a muffled shout from just beyond the garden.

 _Merlin?_ She reached out with her mind, and got no response.

Then suddenly, a shadow covered her window. 

She bit back a scream. The silhouette was decidedly not Merlin; it was too broad, and not quite tall enough. It stumbled as it walked, like it was getting used to its legs. It seemed to be a man.

Aelia scrambled out of bed and raced down the hall to Merlin’s bedroom, thankful that her blinds were drawn so whoever it was couldn’t see inside. There she knocked harshly on the door.

“Merlin!” She hissed, then, throwing caution to the wind because this was an _emergency,_  she flung it open.

Merlin’s room was empty. Dread washed over her like a bucket of ice.

She checked the kitchen and the living room- both empty. Desperately, she sprinted to the basement- nothing. Finally, she turned resignedly to the study.

Aelia would swear up and down that the door to Merlin’s study was the most stubborn thing in the cottage. She had just managed to befriend it the year previous, and it was still hesitant to let her in unless Merlin had explicitly invited her. She hadn't helped her case tonight with the fact that she had accidentally skidded into it, full-body slamming the hard wood in a fashion that she was sure hurt her worse than it hurt the door. She collected herself from the heap on the floor and knocked, polite and gentle. When there was no answer, she made to enter, but the doorknob must have been greased for all the time her hand slipped off of it. She could only think that the door was- ugh- _self- lubricating,_ to keep her out.

Disgusting. She wiped whatever it was off on her pajama pants.

“Please,” she begged the door. “It’s urgent.”

It didn’t budge.

Aelia knocked again, harder this time. Again, nothing.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“You’re not letting him hear me, are you?”

The door didn’t reply, but smugness rolled off of it in waves.

“Oh come _on_ ,” Aelia cried, trying not to sound petulant. “We’re _friends._ You know I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important.”

If the door faltered, it didn’t show it. Aelia swore.

“Fine! Fine, I’ll go investigate the weirdo in our yard myself! And if I get murdered, _you_ can tell Merlin it was because you wouldn’t let me in.”

The door remained silent, as Aelia knew it would. She still wasn’t sure if Merlin actually _knew_ his study door had developed a TARDIS-like consciousness. If he did, neither he nor the door let on.

“Friendship over,” she muttered as she paced back toward the living room. She heard the door settle calmly behind her, as if to say _no it’s not_.

Aelia scowled. No, it wasn’t. But she vowed to be bitter about this for the appropriate amount of time, depending on the outcome of the situation.

Logically, she knew the smartest thing to do was to stay inside and wait for the person to go away. Aelia had just come to that conclusion when she spotted the same silhouette making a steady circle around the living room windows. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from shouting as a flash of what looked like blond hair peaked through the crack of the blinds.

She took a deep breath, trying to slow her heart where it raced in her chest. Then she heard what sounded like tapping from the side of the house.

She stilled. For a moment, there was silence, aside from the blood rushing in her ears. Then the same noise was repeated, closer, near Merlin's bedroom, and Aelia realized whoever it was was tapping the glass. Not hard enough to alert anyone inside- it was more like they were testing its strength.

 _Like they’re going to break in,_ Aelia thought, and her blood ran cold.

Waiting was no longer an option.

She crouched down, keeping out of sight from the windows. The intruder seemed to have moved from her room, all the way down the line of the house to Merlin's. The tapping ceased.

Aelia approached the front door cautiously. She was sure the person was still at the back of the house, but the heavy curtains that covered the windows on this side of the living room made it hard to tell. If she went out this way, she might be able to intercept them. She had a stunning spell that would do well to knock whoever it was on their back in half a second. Steeling her nerves, she reached for the handle and yanked the door open.

The owner of the silhouette was on the other side, sopping wet.

Aelia screamed for the second time that night.

———

Merlin banged out of his study and into the sitting room.

“Aelia?” He shouted. “What is it?”

And there he found the oddest sight he’d seen in his life. Aelia stood ready, hands out, clearly preparing a spell. Before her was someone who -impossibly- looked to be the half-drowned, newly risen king of Camelot.

 _Arthur,_ every bone in his body cried out, and Merlin would have sunk to his knees right then if not for the shout that alerted him to Aelia.

“Wáce -“

“No!” Merlin yelled. With a slice of his hand through the air Aelia was silenced, her hands coming up to scrabble at her throat. The man stumbled back from the doorway, panicked, and Aelia turned to him with the most betrayed look in her eyes. Too much like-

“Sorry,” Merlin said, and released the spell. “You can’t hurt him.”

A frown marred her brow, but she nodded. Merlin barely noticed. He had eyes only for the man now huddled on his knees on the front step, half-dead with exhaustion and shaking like a leaf. Merlin knew what he had seen, but now, as he knelt before him, he barely dared to hope.

“Arthur?” He said. The word came out hoarse and unsure.

The man looked up and - yes. Yes that was Arthur. Blue eyed, broad shouldered, soaked to the bone, alive, breathing, _Arthur._ Aelia gasped softly from the doorway.

“Merlin?” He said, and _oh-_ Merlin had forgotten his voice. How could he have forgotten his voice?

“Arthur,” he said again, because he didn't think he could say anything else. Everything inside of him echoed with _home_ and _finally_ and _safe_ and _so long, so long, so_ _fucking_ _long-_

Merlin reached out to touch him, to see that this wasn't another dream. To ensure that Arthur wasn't going to be ripped away from him the moment he opened his eyes, that he wouldn't break apart the second Merlin spoke, that he wouldn't-

Arthur’s hand came up to mirror his until they were palm to palm, and Merlin could finally begin to believe that this was real. This was _real_. No dreaming, no trickery; just the warmth of Arthur's skin a sure and steady thing against Merlin's own as his pulse thundered between them. _R_ _eal_.

Merlin laughed a laugh that felt like a sob, then tangled his fingers with Arthur’s and pulled him to his chest.


	3. remember you shivered and shone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin latched onto him and refused to let go for a long time. They remained where they'd fallen, the concrete of the porch digging into their knees, Merlin wetting Arthur's neck with his tears, Arthur whispering, "Merlin Merlin Merlin..." over and over, a wondering mantra. Merlin clutched at Arthur's torso with shock-clumsy hands, matched only by Arthur’s grip at his thin cotton shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so Aelia's last name is pronounced like 'Toe-mahss' just as like a heads up

Arthur had returned.

Merlin latched onto him and refused to let go for a long time. They remained where they'd fallen, the concrete porch digging into their knees, Merlin wetting Arthur's neck with his tears, Arthur whispering, "Merlin Merlin Merlin..." over and over, a wondering mantra. Merlin clutched at his torso with shock-clumsy hands, his grip matched only by Arthur’s on his thin sleep shirt.

Merlin drew back once he'd drunk in enough of Arthur's touch and Arthur's scent and Arthur's breath on his nape to sustain him, to examine the pallor of his cheeks. 

"You're freezing," he said. Arthur leaned into Merlin's warmth; nosed benignly at his collar like a child seeking shelter. Merlin let him, running his palms up and down Arthur's back.

"We should get you inside," Merlin muttered, more to himself than to Arthur. He gathered him up and ushered him through the door, instructing Aelia to put the kettle on.

“Are you hurt?” He asked once they'd reached the relative safety of his room. Arthur didn't respond, too busy absentmindedly stroking the comforter on Merlin’s bed.

"Arthur?"

There was a worrying emptiness in Arthur's eyes when he glanced back at him. Merlin turned away.

“Let me get you some dry clothes.” 

He scrounged about for a pair of soft drawstring pants and a loose cotton shirt as Arthur mechanically stripped his tunic and breeches. Merlin could feel Arthur's stare as he helped him dress. He kept his eyes on the ground, respectful to the point of being downright clinical until he felt a warmth on his cheek. He glanced up to find Arthur, his focus shifted to Merlin's jaw, perplexed fingertips roaming lightly over the stubble. Merlin caught Arthur’s hand as it drifted dangerously close to his neck.

“Bed?” He suggested gently. Arthur nodded complacently in a very un-Arthur-like way. It was almost as if... as if he were in shock. Of course. Merlin could have smacked himself. Arthur was in shock. That explained the silence. And the touching.

He settled Arthur carefully back against the pillows and tucked him in with the blanket he kept at the foot of the bed. When that was done he stood awkwardly to the side. Arthur was silent.

“I’ll leave you-" Merlin began, only to be interrupted by-

“Stay,” Arthur said. Only he hadn't used the same Old Welsh as Merlin had.

Merlin sank breathlessly to his knees. “What did you say?"

Arthur sighed sleepily. “Don't make me repeat myself Merlin."

There it was again- Arthur spoke in modern English. Merlin could do little more than stare as he rolled onto his side, muttering, "You'd think those ears would be good for something..."

And that was so very _Arthur_ of him that the backs of Merlins eyes burned.

“They're nothing compared to the size of your head,” he said, and if it came out choked, Arthur was too far gone to hear it.

 _Nevermind on the kettle,_ he called silently to Aelia.  _B_ _ut please bring me a chair._

There was no response, but soon enough she entered with one of the folding chairs they kept in the basement for the rare occasion that they had company. She helped him set it up- quietly,  so they wouldn't disturb Arthur- and the moment he was comfortable, she was upon him.

“Who is he?”

Merlin glanced up at her. She refused to meet his eyes- head deliberately lowered, arms folded against her chest, gaze trained on the stranger in Merlin's bed. She hadn’t forgotten the silencing spell.

Merlin sighed as he sank back. “Who do you think?” He said tiredly.

"You know who I think," she said. "I want to hear you say it."

Merlin chuckled humorlessly. “That, Aelia, is King Arthur of Camelot.”

He hear her suck in a breath.

“So it’s true then.”

He nodded. “It’s true.”

Merlin took another moment to stare greedily at Arthur- studying the rise and fall of his chest and the way his eyelids fluttered and how his face was flushed and warm and _alive-_ before he turned to Aelia. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

She glanced up at him, a tiny, guarded quirk to her surprised brow. Clearly, she hadn’t expected an apology. 

"It’s fine."

“No, it isn’t,” he said. “And I’m sorry.” 

Aelia shrugged embarrassedly. “I understand why you did it Merlin. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

He nodded, pursing his lips to keep from saying that _no,_ she really didn't understand why he had done it. Because how could he explain that when he'd seen her- poised and ready to attack, with Arthur defenseless at her heel- he had seen Morgana? How could he tell her that every time she stood a bit taller, every time she smirked, every time she laughed just a bit too high and loud, he saw once-kind green eyes flashing in the torchlight at Camlann? That though she was so dear to him, he found himself more and more afraid of what she might become- of what she might already be?

“How is he?” Aelia interrupted his inner turmoil as she sat gingerly at Arthur’s feet.

Merlin heaved a sigh. “I'm not sure. He’s in shock. Sleep might help.”

She nodded, then said, “And you? How are you doing?”

Merlin hesitated, considering. He looked back at Arthur, peacefully asleep, wearing Merlin's clothes as if he hasn't been dead for centuries. Surveyed the broad sweep of his shoulders, the barely-there lines at his mouth and eyes, the way his lashes fanned over his cheeks. Watched the bow of his lips as he breathed, felt the heat radiating from him even from his perch in his chair. It was Arthur. Alive, and real, and _here_ _._ Merlin wanted to pinch himself to be sure he wasn’t dreaming.

“It hasn’t set in yet.”

Aelia nodded again.

They sat in companionable silence, Merlin's thoughts churning as Aelia tried to pretend that she wasn't falling asleep where she sat.

“You should go back to bed,” he said after her third stifled yawn.

"No it’s fine, I can-" Aelia began to protest, and Merlin fixed her with a practiced, disapproving eyebrow- the one he’d learned from Gauis. 

She deflated immediately.

“I'll be in my room if you need anything.” Aelia rose, and then, as if on impulse, leaned over and caught him in an impromptu hug.

“He’s back,” she whispered. “He’s here. It’s going to be alright.”

Merlin’s chin wobbled where it hid behind her shoulder, caught unawares at the sudden affection. He sighed shakily. His eyes were almost certainly wet when she pulled away, and she was kind enough not to mention it.

She gave his arm a final squeeze before she went, leaving Merlin alone with a man that until an hour prior, he hadn't dared to hope to see again. Arthur shifted in his sleep, freeing a hand from the confines of the blanket. Merlin stared down at it, caught between tucking it safely back under the covers and the sudden urge to just- _hold_ it.

 _No,_  he thought at himself, _you're not a weeping maiden in some 1950's Disney film. You're a grown adult who can go two minutes without touching him-  
_

_But 1500 years,_ something inside of him whispered. _Y_ _ou've waited for him for 1500 years._

And that was all it took. Merlin caught Arthur’s hand in both of his, careful not to disturb him, pressed it against his mouth, and held it there. A lump formed in his throat as he regarded him, almost afraid to blink for fear that he might slip away.

“You clotpole,” he whispered to the darkness. Fresh tears sprung in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks to collect at Arthur’s knuckles. “You absolute dollophead. How come it took you centuries to get your lazy arse back here, huh?”

Merlin swallowed a sob.

“1500 years Arthur. 1500 years without you. It’s been- God it’s been so long. Too long.”

He kissed Arthur’s fingers, feather-light. “I've missed you.”

He wove their hands together and held him there, and didn’t speak until long after the sun had risen.

———

Aelia rose with the sun - which was less impressive as the months wore on toward winter, but still- and remembered that it was Monday, which meant that she had class, which was...disgusting. Mostly because Professor Monty would probably be reviewing their rough sketches for their paintings and she'd had complaints about Aelia's composition the last time they'd spoken and Aelia hadn't had time to adjust it since. She rolled over and groaned into her pillow. Maybe Merlin would let her skip today. She could say she was still tired from the ritual, or that class had been cancelled, or that...

Or that an ancient king from a land of myth and a time of magic had returned from the dead and had taken up temporary residence in their cottage.

Aelia sank down into the bedding as the events of the night came rolling back- the stubborn fear that had anchored itself in her chest when she saw the figure creeping around the house, the lovely display of pigheadedness put on by Merlin’s _fucking_ _door,_ the steely terror that had gripped her when she’d found the intruder was waiting just beyond their walls, and the empty, choking feeling of her voice being snatched from her throat when Merlin resolutely silenced her after she tried to attack said intruder with a stunning spell. The intruder who had in fact turned out to be King Arthur of Camelot.

Oh God. She’d tried to attack _King Arthur_ with a _stunning spell._

She almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.

Aelia checked her phone- it was half past seven. Eli would be there at ten to drive her to the university, about 20 minutes from the cottage. That gave her plenty of time to complete the task at hand.

She slipped out of bed, washed, and dressed as quietly as possible before she creeping out into the kitchen to find it- thankfully- deserted. She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she'd been holding and grabbed a miniature wheel of cheese and a mandarin orange from the fridge. She wrinkled her nose at the piteous bounty. Maybe if she got back in time she could take care of the shopping as well.

Before she snuck out of the house, she left a note on the chalkboard Merlin had hung next to the chore wheel:  _g_ _one for a run- Aelia._

She was not going for a run.

It was ten minutes to eight when Aelia set off across the lake in their little boat. The sun was just peaking over the horizon and the water was exquisitely flat. This journey wouldn't take nearly as long as the one she and Merlin had taken the night before. She made it to the island at a 8:15, and not five minutes later reached the crest of the hill, panting heavily. When she finally got her breath back, she lifted her head-and froze.

Everything was gone.

She stepped forward, tracing the same path she'd made not 12 hours before to the center of the huge bluestone disc at the foot of the island's tower. The food, the wine, the jewels, the chalk, even her blood on the stones- all of it was gone, disappeared from where it had been scattered about, as if they had never been there at all. Even the crack that had splintered the rock in two was gone, without even a scar to mark it. Aelia shivered. The sight of the blank stone gave her the oddest feeling- like she was standing in the middle of a graveyard. Like something was breathing down her neck.

Like she was being watched.

That, of course, was when the whispers began and Aelia's legs crumpled beneath her.

-

She was floating again.

The golden light that had been so brilliant the night before wasn't quite so overpowering in the light of day. Aelia could even make out individual figures in the mist that surrounded her. They were tiny- no larger than her hand. They flickered back and forth, back and forth, as if they couldn't stand to be still. All except for one. It hovered slightly above the rest, almost as if it were keeping watch.

 _Dragon girl,_ they chanted. _D_ _ragon girl, what have you brought us today?_

“Nothing,” Aelia replied. “I didn’t- I wasn’t-“

 _Leave her be,_ one voice stood out familiarly from the rest. It came from the still figure.

 _Your blood wet the stones of the Sidhe, dragon girl,_ it explained. _T_ _hat connection was not severed when you left our isle._

So these _were_ the Sidhe. Aelia hadn’t been dreaming after all.

“It wasn’t?” She asked nervously. She wasn't sure that she liked where this was going.

 _No,_ and though Aelia couldn’t see its face, she could tell the voice was wearing a very smug expression.

“ _Can_ it be severed?”

There was a sound like wind chimes, bright and tinkling. The voice was laughing.

 _If you like,_ it said imperiously, _but I wouldn't advise it._

Her eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

_Because we can provide you guidance. Your soul is older than you know dragon girl. We watched your life before, we can help you navigate this new one._

Aelia bristled. She remembered what Merlin had said when he'd taught her the ritual.  _They don’t make deals like most faeries,_ he’d warned. _T_ _hey don't ask for trinkets or promises or first-born children._

 _What do they ask for?_ She'd said.

 _Favors,_ he'd answered cryptically. At the time it hadn't seemed so bad, but now Aelia realized what he'd meant. The Sidhe liked to have people in their debt.

“I think I’ll take my chances,” Aelia said to the voice, and then, so as not to seem disrespectful, “but thank you for your kind offer.”

The voice was slightly miffed when it answered.  _Very well dragon girl. Consider this our parting-_

“Wait!” Aelia exclaimed, remembering the reason she had come to the island in the first place, “I’m sorry. Just- I have a question. If that’s alright.”

The figure the voice belonged to shifted momentarily, almost as if it were nodding.

 _We are listening,_ it intoned.

“Last night, you said- you told me ‘it is done.’ What did you mean by that?”

The voice remained silent. The wind-chime laughter sounded again, louder this time. It permeated from every corner of the mist, spanning a hundred voices.

“Were you talking about Arthur?” Aelia pressed on. “Did you mean your protection of him?”

The voice sighed.  _The Once and Future King is no longer in need of our protection dragon girl. We have prepared him for the upcoming battle as best we could. It is in your master’s hands now._

Something brushed against her forehead, and her body filled with a kind of buzzing, a static beneath her skin. The voice said something else, but Aelia couldn’t make it out. She thought it might have said  _a gift._ But that was impossible. The Sidhe didn't give gifts.

“What battle?” She asked. “Why do you keep calling me dragon girl? My name is Aelia.”

The wind chimes returned tenfold, spread throughout the figures. Even the voice joined in. There was an irony in their amusement that was lost on her.

 _Aelia,_ the voice tested the syllables.  _Of course. Did you know, dragon girl, that your name means sun?_

She only had time to wonder what that had to do with anything before her vision went dark.

-

When she came to, she was flat on her back, looking up at the sky. Her audience with the Sidhe was over.

———

Arthur woke up feeling warmer than he had in a long time, in an unfamiliar room and a surprisingly comfortable bed. Sunlight streamed through a large window to his right. He was wearing someone else's clothes, too- the fabric was far softer than anything he’d owned and whatever soap that they had been washed in had left them with a cloying, too-bright scent. Arthur lay there, confused but content as the last vestiges of sleep drifted slowly from his mind.

Then the memories came.

Mordred, Morgana, Merlin, his _death,_  and then flashes of things that shouldn't- that _couldn't_ be true. Gwen’s death, Camelot’s Golden Age, her fall, the invaders, the Romans, and war after war after war. His friends. His friends all dead and gone, and Arthur watching it all, still here, still fucking _here,_ _alone,_  gods above, _why?_

There was a horrible keening sound, and Arthur only had time to realize that it had come from _him_ when a rough, long fingered hand grabbed for his own.

“Arthur?”

The images fell away and _oh,_ Arthur remembered he was not alone after all. Because there was Merlin.

 _“Merlin,”_ he breathed in relief, squeezing the hand that was holding his. “Merlin.”

Merlin looked different, though no older than Arthur remembered him. He was still pale and lanky- though maybe a bit broader around the shoulders. His hair was still black as the night, but it was longer now, and wavy like it had never been in Camelot; Arthur was sorely tempted to stick his fingers in it and see if it were really as puffy as it looked. His jaw was covered with a fine layer of stubble- also a new addition. But it was his eyes that troubled Arthur the most. They were the same blue that Arthur knew, but there was something . . . old about them. They held a tiredness Arthur could only liken to the old nobles who sometimes passed silently through court- the ones who had fought wars no one else could remember, who had made decisions no man should ever be asked to, and who carried their consequences like an iron weight in their hearts. Merlin’s eyes spoke of all those things tenfold.

How long had Arthur been gone?

“How do you feel?” Merlin asked carefully.

Arthur snorted. “Like I just walked for days.”

Merlin did not laugh. He didn’t even smile. His entire being radiated anxiety and sorrow, like it did when Arthur was hurt, or when one of the knights was in danger.

The knights who were all dead now, if the things Arthur had seen were to be believed.

“Would you like some breakfast?” Merlin asked.

“Later,” Arthur said. The next moment, his stomach grumbled loudly, betraying him in full. Merlin finally cracked a slight grin at that.

“I’ll go get you some food, Sire.”

He rose quietly and slipped out the door. Arthur watched him go with a rising sense of apprehension.

Now what?

First things first: Arthur had to get out of bed. He swung his legs over the side and stood, surprised to find himself steady. Much steadier than he had been when he’d first gotten out of the lake. He’d had to sit on the cold, pebbly shore, shivering for a long time before any feeling returned to his limbs. When he’d attempted to stand, his legs had shaken like a newborn colt’s. He’d even improvised a walking stick out of a fallen branch until he was confident enough to move on his own. But now, his legs seemed fine- perfectly suited to handle his weight.

Arthur made a slow lap around the room, a cautious hand pressed to the wall. It was modest, but unexpectedly lovely. The walls were light blue with white trim. All the furniture but the bed was fashioned out of some kind of pale wood, which was constructed out of some kind of metal. There were three bookcases Arthur could see, and probably more in the closet that he dared not open. Though the room was unfamiliar, but it was undeniably Merlin’s. Simple and tidy except for the bookshelves. And what astonishing bookshelves he kept. There were books in every language, and not one of them seemed to have any practical use. He picked one out and found there were words on the back cover - _words_ \- tempting a story about something called a symbologist on the search for something called the Holy Grail. Arthur scoffed and replaced the book, continuing to pace.

Being alone was beginning to fill him with a creeping sense of anxiety. More and more memories flooded his mind- memories he couldn’t possibly have: years of politics and history and science, names he’d never heard attached to faces he’d never seen. And then there was the acute sense of dying- the emptiness of it rotting his bones and feeding on his heart as his mind was sent elsewhere. Arthur clutched his own wrist to ensure it was there but it didn’t help it didn't help it didn't- the pulse that threaten to break the skin wasn't his, the breath in his lungs belonged to someone else. He was a stranger in his own body.

 _Merlin,_ he fought the panic that rose with a vengeance, _j_ _ust find Merlin._ His feet carried him through the painted white door and out into the corridor.

The cottage was small, but cozy. Everything seemed to be combined to one floor. Arthur ventured in the direction Merlin had gone off in, passing a spacious room with sofas and multiple strange, thin box boxes of various sizes scattered around it. The largest one rested on top of a cabinet, and seemed to be made of black glass. Another was silver, and boasted the symbol of a partially-eaten apple. The smallest one was black glass again. Arthur made a mental note to investigate them later, and trod along to the next room, which seemed to be the kitchen. There he found Merlin bend over a set of cabinets. His fear immediately retreated at the sight of him. Arthur was too relieved to question it.

“Your house is like a line,” he said. Merlin started, and ever-so-gracefully slam his foot into the side of the cabinet.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, hopping around, holding his injured toes, “fuck!”

“You alright?” Arthur made no move to help him, relaxing against the doorframe. This was normal- Merlin bouncing around, too incompetent to complete the simplest tasks, and cursing up a storm. If Arthur closed his eyes, they could be in his chambers in Camelot.

“Arthur-” Merlin finally got ahold of himself- “you really didn’t need to come in here. I could’ve brought you your food.”

“And miss the entertainment?” He tried for a light smile. It came across as a grimace.

Merlin’s eyebrow quirked up in a way that was much too reminiscent of Gaius for Arthur’s taste, but colored with much more concern. Arthur dropped his gaze, unwilling to allow Merlin to see his anxieties. How could he explain the feeling he’d had in Merlin’s room, like his body wasn't his own? Like the walls would close in at any moment? How could he tell his brave, idiotic manservant that he, the king, was afraid to be alone?

Only Merlin wasn’t his manservant anymore, was he? Arthur didn’t have a clear idea of how much time had passed since he’d been in the lake, but he knew it had to be awhile. The memories that couldn’t be memories filled Arthur’s head with visions of war and bloodshed and uprisings- years and years of death and fury. And if those visions were true, that meant Camelot had fallen a long time ago. So Merlin couldn’t be his servant, because Arthur was no longer his king.

“Stop,” Merlin must have noticed that shadow that fell over his face. He was standing half a foot from Arthur, grasping his elbow. “Whatever you’re thinking about, stop it. Breakfast first, serious stuff later, yeah?”

Arthur searched Merlin's determined expression and found a hint of desperation hidden in those ancient eyes of his. He realized, suddenly, that Merlin needed this temporary peace as much as he did. Arthur nodded, and the storminess fled Merlin like it had never been there at all.

Arthur was moved to the small square table that stood in the corner of Merlin’s spacious kitchen. It stretched from the lakeside of the cottage to the roadside, rather like the room next to it ("The sitting room?" "What's a _sitting room_?"). Half of the space was dedicated to a large, silver box (“It’s called a fridge Arthur, you use it to keep things cold”) cabinets topped by shining stone counters, and yet another large box with metal racks inside (“It’s an oven-“ “It’s _huge!”_ ), the top of which was made up of a large panel that spluttered flames when Merlin twisted a knob (“Well you see there’s gasoline that comes from a pipe-“ “What’s gasoline?”). The other half was dedicated to the alcove Arthur had been sent to after he tried to turn one of the knobs and succeeded in creating a burst of flame that nearly singed his eyebrows.

Merlin himself was an odd sight in the kitchen. He ran around like a chicken that lost it’s head - double checking the pans he’d left on the panel (which he called a stove), grabbing strange bottles from the nearby cabinets, and placing sliced bread in an odd contraption he’d promised would make it warm, like it was fresh baked. When he opened the large silver box he chuckled and muttered something about shopping before emerging with an oddly shaped box (what was it with all these boxes?) that, surprisingly, contained eggs. Arthur watched in wonder as Merlin cracked the eggs over the the two pans he’d set out, then covered them. There was a soft _ding!_ and the warm aroma of fresh bread wafted through the kitchen, making Arthur’s mouth water. Merlin retrieved a pair of plates and forks and knives from one of the cabinets, along with two glass cups with handles on the side. The plates and cups he stacked beside the stove, the silverware he ran to the table. Another sound, this time a whistle, had Merlin rushing back to relieve a strange pot with a handle and a spout from the heat, pouring its dark brown contents into the glass cups. He turned the knobs and extinguished the flames, then slid over to the pans, uncovered them, and slid the now cooked eggs onto the two plates. The bread followed soon after. Merlin delivered the two plates to the table with a rough sort of grin, then returned for the glass cups. Only then did he settle down beside Arthur and begin to tuck in.

Arthur studied the meal before him. The bread was crusty and hot to the touch. The yolks of the egg were a rather startling orange, and garnished with something white and flaky- a far cry from the pickled eggs he’d eaten in Camelot. The drink looked promising, except that it was steaming hot. Merlin hadn’t even touched it yet, so Arthur refrained from his.

“Everything alright?” Merlin was looking at him with anxious, unblinking eyes.

“Fine,” Arthur said brusquely.

“You’re not eating,” he said, as if that were enough cause for concern.

“I just . . .” Arthur trailed off. “What is it?”

Merlin frowned at him for a moment before realization dawned. He let out an undignified snigger that quickly grew into a full-blown guffaw while Arthur glared at him.

“It’s not funny, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur said testily.

“You’re right,” Merlin calmed himself, “you’re right, I’m sorry. I just forgot that food’s changed a bit since Camelot. It’s eggs over easy with toast.”

“Eggs over- what?”

“It’s like . . . kind of like pickled eggs, but less sour, and the middle's all soft, and it's flat. So actually, not like picked eggs. But the yolk of the egg is really fragile, so a lot of people dip their toast into it, like a sauce. See?”

He demonstrated with his own toast, and Arthur was surprised to see the yolk of the egg begin to leak orange.

“And what’s the white stuff on top?” He asked.

“Salt,” Merlin replied through a mouthful of eggy toast, “It makes it taste like it’s been brined.”

Arthur frowned suspiciously and pointed at the cup, “And this?”

“Tea,” Merlin said, “It’s like . . . it’s like dried herbs and leaves and fruits and such. Oh, and spices! Oh you’re going to love spices. But when you put them in water together it makes the water taste nice, and we call it tea. It’s good, you should try it.”

Arthur’s frown deepened, but he took an experimental sip nonetheless.

The tea was strange and somewhat bitter, but it was hot and surprisingly soothing. Arthur took another sip and decided he liked it. And a moment later, he decided he also liked eggy toast.

The rest of the meal was filled with questions about food and about the odd contraptions that littered Merlin’s kitchen. It seemed the strange pot with the spout was called a kettle, which is where the tea came from. The other smaller kettle on the counter was what Merlin called a coffee machine. Coffee, according to Merlin, was very dark and bitter, and could only really be improved with copious amounts of cream and sugar or with something called chocolate. The cauldron and rack of herbs were recognizable enough - Gaius had had a set just like them. Arthur could only hope that Merlin wasn’t preparing potions in the same place he made his meals. That hope would probably be dashed within the week.

It was oddly relaxing, to sit and eat with Merlin, to learn about what people in the future ate. It eased the lurch of anxiety Arthur felt whenever he thought about the fact that this was his life now. _One moment at a time,_ he decided. _One moment at a time._

The peaceful feeling did not last. After the dishes were cleared away and Merlin had returned to the table, a solemn air fell across them. It was time for the ‘serious stuff,’ as Merlin had so aptly described it. Neither of them quite knew where to begin.

“What happened,” Arthur finally asked. “After?”

Merlin sighed. He didn’t need to ask what Arthur meant by after.

"What do you remember?"

"Mordred. Camlann. Morgana. Dying. You."

Arthur stared at him for a long moment. Merlin sighed. "Arthur I-"

"I know I've been gone for awhile Merlin."

 _"How?"_ Merlin looked at him incredulously. Arthur could only shrug. "No idea. I just. . . do."

Merlin studied him for a long moment, something complex and scrutinizing about his gaze, before he relented. “Gwen took over Camelot.”

Arthur nodded. That had been his intent when he’d given Gaius his ring. Guinevere would be a brilliant regent as she had been a brilliant queen. There were no hands more capable than hers, no one Arthur trusted more with his home.

“She married Leon a few years into her reign. The council wasn’t too happy about it- they wanted her to marry a prince from Annis’s kingdom. But Annis backed her decision. She said there was no way she’d lose her alliance with the only other kingdom ruled by a woman over something as trivial as marriage. They had two daughters and a son. She overturned the ban on magic, as well. That was actually one of the first things she did. She was an amazing queen Arthur. The people loved her with everything they had. Her line ruled until the Saxons invaded. And then- well. Then Camelot fell.”

Merlin took a steadying breath, “Gwaine died. He and Percival went to find Morgana, and she killed him. Percival was . . . he’d changed, after. He stayed in Camelot for a while, then he stayed with me. Then . . . I don’t know where he went. But he told me that when he’d gone to retrieve Gwaine’s body he- he was gone. I think Percival went to look for him, to see if he was still alive. I never saw either of them again."

He shifted in his seat. He clearly hadn't talked about any of this in years. "Leon, well, you know what happened to Leon. He and Gwen married. He acted as her advisor and consort. He eventually took over his father's lands after he passed, then gave them to their eldest daughter when she came of age. Their youngest girl actually trained to be a knight, but then they found out that she had magic. She became the Court Sorcerer after the first one retired. Gaius died a few years after Gwen’s coronation. He caught a sickness one winter and I- I couldn’t save him. He passed away in his sleep.”

Images rose to Arthur’s mind as Merlin spoke, matching up with the story he wove. He could see Gwen’s coronation, her wedding, her first child as clearly as if he had been there. He watched as magic returned to Albion, arcing beatifically through the lower town. He saw Percival, horse laden with bags, doffing his knight’s cloak at Camelot’s border. He saw Leon, grey flecking his temples, standing at Gwen’s shoulder as she placed a golden circlet on the head of a curly-haired young man, crowning him prince. He saw a young woman bearing Leon's sword and Gwen's smile, sending fire through the air in the heat of battle. He saw Camelot fall to invaders, watched as her streets cleared and her citizens moved far away. Through all of this, something was missing.

“What about you?” Arthur asked. “What happened to you?”

Merlin looked startled, as if he hadn’t expected Arthur to wonder. “After you… after, I returned to Camelot to tell Gwen what had happened. And then… I came here.”

Arthur looked at Merlin strangely, “You came here?”

“Well not here exactly,” Merlin backtracked, “My first cottage was maybe a quarter mile east of this one. But then the lake began to shrink, and so I moved. Built a new one.”

“And how long have you been here?” Arthur asked.

“In this house? About 50 years,” Merlin replied, deftly avoiding the question Arthur had actually been asking. Arthur took a deep breath for patience, then another to steel himself. “And how long have you lived by the lake?”

_How long have I been gone?_

Merlin sighed warily. He looked so old in that moment- old and fragile and _sad_. There was a weariness in his eyes and in the way he held himself that did not belong to a young man.

“Fifteen hundred and fourteen years,” He whispered. 

Arthur felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs.

“No,” he spluttered.

“Three months-” Merlin continued.

_“No-”_

“-two weeks-”

“Stop it-”

“-and three days.”

“-you’re lying,” Arthur whispered. “Oh, God, Merlin. Please tell me you’re lying.”

Merlin’s face had crumpled in on itself. “I’m so sorry.”

Arthur could only bury his head in his hands. He knew- somehow he _knew_ that he’d been dead for a long time. Knew that Camelot was gone. But he’d only prepared himself for a few centuries- half a millennium at most. But  _1500 years_? That was so much worse than anything Arthur could have imagined.

When he finally looked up he caught Merlin staring at him, absolutely desolated.

“And you?” Arthur asked. His voice was rough. “How are you still here?”

He smiled mirthlessly. “Take a guess.”

 _Magic,_ Arthur thought, _of course._ Magic was what kept Merlin alive and what kept him young, from the looks of it.

“Why?” Arthur asked.

"I was waiting for you-"

"I figured that. But _why?"_

Merlin scoffed bitterly. “It wasn’t my decision Arthur.”

Arthur felt his words like a blow to the chest, leaving him reeling. And Merlin must have realized because he was scrambling, reaching for Arthur’s hands, saying, “Wait, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, Arthur-“

“Then how did you mean it?” Arthur said. Because Merlin- Merlin was all Arthur had left right now. He was the only one who had come to this future with him, the one to meet him at the door -or rather a hard swim and walk from it. And if Merlin didn’t- if he hadn’t-

“I don’t regret it,” Merlin held his hand in a tight grip between his own, “It was hard, and it was long, and most of the time I hated it, but I don’t regret it for a moment, alright? Because you’re back now. You’re _back,_ Arthur.”

The unbridled sincerity in Merlin’s eyes and words meant that Arthur could breathe easy again. He nodded slowly. Merlin gave him a tiny, relieved smile in return. Then his gaze fell on where his fingers met Arthur’s. He dropped his hands as if he’d been burned, and Arthur felt the strange, acute prickle of loss.

“And besides, it’s not like I’ve been alone,” Merlin said, forcibly lighthearted. “I’ve had friends. People in the village, people I’ve kept correspondence with. And my apprentices of course.”

“Apprentices?” Arthur asked, “So you’re still . . ?”

Merlin chuckled softly, “It’s not something that just goes away Arthur.”

Arthur wanted to protest that he knew that, but truthfully he didn’t. He didn’t know how magic could stay with someone for 1500 years and not burn itself out. He didn’t want to ask.

“So that girl from last night, the one that nearly killed me. She’s your apprentice?”

Merlin rolled his eyes, just barely good-natured, “That spell would have knocked you out at most. But yes, she is.”

A faint glow of pride lit Merlin’s face as he talked about her, “Her name is Aelia.”

“Aelia,” Arthur said. For some reason, the name was familiar. “Did you know that means sun?”

“I didn’t,” Merlin replied.

Arthur hummed non-committedly. They stayed at the table for few minutes, drinking their tea as Arthur processed all of the new yet oddly familiar information.

“And where is she?” He broke the silence.

“Hm?” Merlin glanced up at him. “Oh, she’s at school.”

Arthur tilted his head and looked at Merlin strangely. “School?”

Merlin sighed deeply. “Right. First things first. You need to get caught up.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Merlin’s just-barely-not-grinning face. He had a very bad feeling about what that might mean.

———

As it turned out, Aelia had time to make it to the shop after all.

By the time the boat touched back at their shore, it was only nine o'clock. Her unexpected conversation with the Sidhe had left her hungry and irritable and oddly wired, which was a far cry from how she’d felt last night. The nervous energy helped her to get through the shop quickly, and by the time Eli pulled up in his battered truck she'd even unpacked the groceries.

Eli grinned and handed her a fresh cup of coffee when she climbed into the front seat. “Gwen sends her love,” he said. Aelia prided herself on only blushing a little bit at that. The Smiths really were too wonderful for their own good, and Gwen’s love combined with Eli’s smile this early in the morning were usually enough to distract even the most morose of the villagers. Today, however, the appearance of King Arthur and her conversation with the Sidhe weighed heavily on her mind. Not even Gwen and Eli could hope to draw her away from that.

“So he came in this morning then?” He asked as he pulled away from the curb.

Aelia’s eyebrows shot up, her mind going a hundred miles an hour. There was no way Eli could know about Arthur, was there? Unless his return had awoken his knights as well? Aelia hesitated before she said “. . . Elyan?”

Eli looked at her strangely, “No...,” he said, “I thought his name was Meraud?”

And with a start Aelia realized that he was talking about Merlin’s whole loop of replacement shenanigans. She’d completely forgotten, what with everything that had been going on.

“Right,” she said, sighing in relief. “Sorry, it’s been a long weekend. Yeah, he got here this morning.”

“And the old man?” Eli asked, almost hopefully.

“He left with Meraud’s mom,” Aelia said, “I’m sorry. I thought he came to see you yesterday?”

Eli sighed, put out, “Yeah, but I kind of wanted to catch him again before he went you know? I’m going to miss him scowling at my cupcakes.”

Aelia laughed. “God, he was so judgmental about the amount of frosting you use.”

“It’s the perfect amount!” Eli exclaimed, but he was smiling. “God, remember when he asked if he could have it on the side?”

Aelia sniggered. Merlin had done it on her dare, but she wasn’t about to tell Eli that. “Yeah. You wiped it off into one off the sauce containers. He had frosting in his beard for days after that, he kept complaining that he was going to have to shave it off.”

“He really is a loon, isn’t he?” Eli said fondly.

“He is,” Aelia agreed.

They spent the rest of the drive trading stories about Old Man Emrys- Aelia editing a few that had happened to Merlin when he hadn't aged himself, just for laughs. On one memorable occasion when she’d caught him drinking prune juice and harrumphing Donald Trump, who'd been in London to visit the Queen. There hadn't been a white hair or a whisker in sight.

“He loved the royal wedding though,” she said, “He kept rewatching the bishop’s speech afterwards.”

“Gwen did the same thing,” Eli laughed.

Soon enough, they pulled up at the school’s drop off lane. Aelia climbed out of the car, thanking Eli for the ride.

“I’ll have gas money for you next week,” she promised.

“Hey,” Eli called after her. She turned back.

“Don’t let Tilly mess you around, alright?”

Aelia laughed half-heartedly and nodded. And with that he was gone to wherever TA’s go before they teach for their professors. Probably to another class.

Aelia wished she could say Tilly hadn’t given her any issues outright yet, besides the very obvious cold shoulder. But today was Monday. Aelia had designated it as Tilly-day in her head, because today they shared three classes and would probably run into each other 4 times outside of that. Tilly was one of the only two people from their secondary school to attend Falmouth besides Aelia. The other was Rose McCallan. So Aelia had the best and worst people to go into university with: her ex, and her best friend.

It wasn’t that Tilly was a terrible awful person, it was just that she had been a terrible awful person in one very specific aspect of their relationship. That aspect was Aelia. 

So yeah, Tilly had kind of been a terrible awful person, but she’d also been the only out person within 20 miles at their private Catholic secondary school aside from Rose, and Rose and Aelia knew each other far too well by now to ever be attracted to each other. Besides, Rose was absolutely ass over tea kettle for Eli.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Speak of the devil. Aelia turned to grin at Rose.

Rose stood a bit taller than she did and was supermodel gorgeous, with dark, twinkling eyes, perfect eyebrows, and beautiful, high cheekbones. Her umber skin was glowing, like always, and she was staring after Eli, like always.

“He’s in the car babes,” Aelia said as she threaded their arms together.

“It’s the thought that counts sweets,” Rose sighed. She tugged Aelia along toward the quad as she laughed.

“You’ve got to stop crushing on the TA,” Aelia giggled. “He’s like eight years older than you!”

“Seven,” Rose corrected her. “I turned 19 last week, remember?”

Aelia shook her head fondly. “You’re insane.”

“You dated Tilly-my-girlfriend’s-my-token-bisexual Parker.”

If it came from anyone besides Rose, Aelia would probably be offended. However, it _was_ Rose, so she just sighed good-naturedly and said, “Don’t remind me.”

“I don’t have to. She stares you down every time you get within ten feet of a guy.”

Aelia nodded exaggeratedly. This is why she loved Rose- she kept Aelia from taking herself too seriously. Rose hadn't judged her when she came out as bi junior year. Hadn't judged when she’d turned up at her door, crying after Tilly had said “I don’t trust you,” and left her sitting alone in a cafe in the middle of Falmouth on their anniversary. Hadn’t judged when Aelia told her about her crush on Gwen (the first one she’d had after the breakup), or when she moved on from said crush. She'd been there through Aelia’s mother’s death, had been the one on Skype at 5 in the English morning while Aelia sobbed. And as much as they teased each other, Rose wouldn’t even have to ask for Aelia to walk through fire for her. The only other person she would do that for was Merlin, who would probably never need her to.

“You alright?” Rose glanced over concernedly.

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking,” Aelia smiled up at her. “How was your weekend?”

Rose heaved a deep sigh. “You don’t want to know. Yours?”

Where could she even begin? The blood ritual? The ancient king? The Sidhe? So she just said, “Same.”

Rose nodded. “Well then, I say we get coffee and try and forget about them. Yes?”

Aelia shook her head in enthusiastic agreement.

The day sped along rather merrily thereafter, though Aelia found it difficult to stay focused during her lectures. The Sidhe’s message from that morning was taunting her, and the nervous energy that had mellowed out in the car and over coffee with Rose was on the rise again. She couldn’t even pretend to care when Tilly’s stare bore holes into the back of her head during philosophy. All she could think about was getting home and talking to Merlin. The need to regroup and sort through her thoughts was, quite frankly, overwhelming.

Soon enough, her last class let out, and Rose met her in the parking garage to drive her home. Rose lived in the town next to Aelia’s village with her parents. Her mom was a big-shot business consultant, and her dad was a stay-at-home parent and expert web designer- they were a power couple, and Rose was their power child. Aelia loved the McCallan’s. They were glamorous in a practical way. And they always let her spend the night last minute.

Rose dropped her off at the cottage, securing the promise that she could come over and meet the ‘hot new roommate.' Aelia groaned at that, but hugged her just the same. With a final wave, she sped down the road and into the fading autumn light, leaving a dusty trail in her wake. Aelia watched her go, then turned to enter the house.

She was greeted by shouting.

“-history books you clotpole, of course they’re not perfect!”

“Well these ones are just lying aren’t they _Mer_ lin!”

“It’s not like you were there!”

“That doesn’t make these any less wrong!”

“And how would you know? You’ve been living under a lake for the past fifteen centuries!”

Aelia entered the kitchen, the source of the commotion, and immediately ducked to avoid being hit by a very heavy- and very well aimed- textbook.

“And now you’ve almost beheaded my apprentice!”

Aelia straightened up and took in the scene before her. Merlin was standing a few feet away, clearly the target of the launched textbook, whose mates were sprawled out across the kitchen table. Some of them were open, some of them were decidedly shut. There were books on all sorts of things - Roman politics, British history, the life and times of William Shakespeare- all crowded together in one precariously built pile. And there, in the center of the mess, was the textbook launcher- a broad-shouldered man with finger-mussed blond hair, dressed familiarly in Merlin’s sweatpants and ratty old t-shirt.

King Arthur. From the legends

Aelia lived with legends that apparently fought like five year olds.

“Sorry about that,” Arthur blanched, standing up and - for whatever reason - bowing.

“Oh!” Merlin exclaimed in front of her, “I see how it is! She gets an apology but all I get are more books thrown at me!”

“I was _aiming_ for you, wasn’t I _Mer_ lin?” Arthur came out of his bow.

“It’s fine,” Aelia interrupted, stepping forward to get a better look at him, “Consider us even for last night.”

She stuck out her hand to shake. Arthur looked at it confusedly for a moment, then took it and kissed her gently on the knuckles, “So you’re the apprentice I take it.”

Aelia was couldn't help but be a little bit jarred. “Yes,” she said, snatching her hand away. “That’s me. You don’t know what a handshake is do you?”

Arthur quirked an eyebrow, “Is it some sort of dance?”

Aelia laughed, “It could be. But no, sorry. It’s how people greet each other now, especially when they meet for the first time. You, well, um… hold out your right hand.”

Arthur did as he was told, an amused curve to his mouth. Aelia clasped his hand in hers, “And then you shake it,” she gave Arthur’s hand one strong pump then let go. “That’s a handshake.”

“Strange. We used to do it a bit differently,” Arthur laughed, then held out his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you. I’m King Arthur of Camelot.”

Aelia shook his hand again. “Aelia Thomas of Michigan.”

“And where is this Michigan?”

“Very far away. I’ll show you on a map sometime.”

“Excellent.”

Aelia turned back to find Merlin's mouth hanging open.

“I spend hours with you and you refuse to learn a thing, but the moment she walks in the door you’re suddenly interested in modern etiquette?”

“Maybe you have to start with the basics.” The corners of Aelia’s mouth were dangerously close to tipping up into a smile.

“Or get me a book that isn’t written by a fool,” Arthur added as he sat back down.

Merlin scowled at him over Aelia’s head. She saw him mouth something that looked suspiciously like _clotpole_ before he turned his attention back to her. “And how was your day, my _sweet_ and _kind_ apprentice.”

Arthur shot Merlin a glare over the piles of books, unimpressed by the passive aggressive display.

“Pretty good. Eli misses your complaints about the frosting already.”

“As he should,” Merlin said with pseudo-loftiness as he dropped a kiss to her crown and moved around her to the fridge. Aelia quirked an unseen eyebrow, surprised at Merlin’s good mood. Then she caught it- the tension that spanned the breadth of his shoulders, the nervous tap of his fingers on the door, the glances he kept stealing at Arthur, like he was scared he’d disappear if Merlin weren’t watching him.

He was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Thanks for doing the shopping,” Merlin said, and ah, now she could hear the forced lightness in his tone. Aelia chanced a look at Arthur, to see if he heard it as well. Judging by the set of his jaw, he did, and he was none too happy about it. Aelia wondered if they had an argument while she’d been in class, or if Arthur was just picking up on the anxiety that was coming off of Merlin in waves for anyone tuned to his frequency.

“No problem,” Aelia said cautiously.

“Did you have a good run? I've always thought it was great that you did that you know. Nothing like a bit of exercise in the morning to get you going.”

Aelia ignored Arthur's snort in favor of studying Merlin. He was definitely on edge. He’d started to ramble inanely. Nothing good ever came from Merlin rambling inanely.

“Actually I wanted to ask you about something I saw while I was out?” Aelia said, “There was this bush on the path, and I think it’s berries can be used for some of those sleeping droughts you were telling me about?”

The thing was, Aelia was much better at lying to Merlin than Merlin was at lying to Aelia, which shouldn’t have been possible. Her lies were careful, infrequent, and unpracticed. She lied succinctly and easily, never giving too much information. It had taken a few months of living with him to realize that Merlin, on the other hand, had gone to the ‘babble until they tune you out’ school of lying.

“Sure,” Merlin said, “Sounds great. You wouldn’t have happened to take a picture of it, would you?”

“No,” Aelia said.

“Bugger. Well I’m sure you can pick it out in the book.”

“Sounds good.”

“Arthur, we’ll be in the study if you’re alright here?”

Arthur's face darkened unexpectedly.

“It’ll only be a few minutes,” Merlin promised.

“Of course,” Arthur brusquely dismissed his attention, “You know I _can_ take care of myself Merlin.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. Despite the tension, it seemed genuine. As did the affectionate, “Just don’t set fire to my books prat.”

Aelia followed him to the study, closing the door a bit more harshly than usual just to hear it squeak in protest. _Ha,_ she thought, _serves you right for leaving me out to dry_. The door settled moodily as Aelia rounded on Merlin.

“Spill,” she said. Merlin sighed, leaning heavily against the desk, as sullen as his door. “I knew there were no berries,” he muttered. Aelia rolled her eyes, “ _Merlin-”_

“Alright, alright,” he said, “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . I’m nervous. I don’t understand.”

“What don't you understand?”

“Why he’s back,” Merlin sighed heavily. Aelia scoffed, “Merlin, I don’t know if you’ve looked at the world lately, but-”

“Aelia there’s no way this is the worst it gets,” he interrupted, “I’m sorry, I know things are awful right now, but they’ve been awful before too. World War I, I thought for sure he’d be back. World War II even more so. The Cold War, Vietnam, Korea, the conflict in the Middle East- there were so many times I thought he’d come back and he didn't. Why now?”

“Well we just found out the planet’s nice and fucked environment wise,” Aelia supplied.

“Then why didn’t he rise as soon as the report came out? Or sooner so the fuckedness would have never happened? I don’t know. . . I don’t know. I can’t figure out what he’s doing here.”

Merlin put a hand over his eyes. “Oh, and he’s speaking English.”

Aelia frowned. “Should he not be?”

 _“No,”_ Merlin said, “He shouldn’t have any idea what English _is,_ much less how to use it. But here he is. Speaking English. I'm not even sure he realizes he's doing it. Oh- and earlier I thought I saw him reading something in Cantonese.”

Aelia raised her eyebrows, impressed. “So he came back with a super cool language starter pack. That’s convenient.”

Merlin waved his hands around and helplessly began to pace. “It’s more than that. He’s reading all these history books and he’s telling me they're wrong. Which at first I was thinking, fine, whatever, he’s a bit confused after being, you know,  _dead_ for a millennium and a half. But then he started telling me what actually happened- and the strangest part is he was _right._  I have no idea how that's possible.”

He'd begun to look a little manic- face flushed, hair sticking up, eyes aglint- but the gears in Aelia’s brain were turning. Snippets of her conversation with the Sidhe were coming back to her. The strange energy that had followed her all day was growing- it felt less like adrenaline; more like something was scratching beneath her skin, where her bones lay.

“I might,” she confessed. Merlin’s head snapped up. “How?”

Aelia's gaze dropped. She scuffed her toe lightly against the rug. 

“I might’ve, kind of, maybe visited the island this morning?”

Merlin went dangerously still. “Go on,” he said.

“The offerings were gone. And, well, the Sidhe might’ve sort of . . . appeared to me?”

Merlin took a sharp breath- “Aelia Thomas please don’t tell me you were really that _stupid-_ ”

“I didn’t make any deals! I didn’t accept anything! They offered guidance and I very politely rejected it!”

“They are creatures of _magic-_  they are older than you or I could even begin to fathom, and you had _no right_ to go to that island without my permission!” Merlin snarled, and Aelia could hardly remember seeing him so angry or so scared but for some unfathomable reason it had her shouting, “And you had no right to lie to me about what I saw!”

Merlin reeled back. She barely paused.

“You knew something happened, didn’t you? You knew that they visited me when I did the ritual! Did you know what that meant, Merlin? Did you know that I was still bonded to them after it was over? That’s why I went to the island! To see for myself if what they said to me last night was connected to Arthur! And it was!”

Merlin deflated, one hand clutching at his chest.

“I was right,” she said, quieter now. “Why didn’t you tell me I was right?”

He huffed out a brittle little laugh. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up,” he said. Completely honest.

“Well that was obviously stupid,” Aelia said.

“Hindsight,” Merlin intoned.

They were quiet for a moment, neither of them quite able to meet the other’s gaze.

“The Sidhe said Arthur was no longer in need of their protection,” Aelia finally said. “They said that they prepared him as well as they could, and that it’s in your hands now.”

She didn’t tell him the other thing they’d said or what they had called her- _d_ _ragon girl._ The title stirred something deep inside of her, like a word at the tip of her tongue. She wasn’t sure if she wanted it spoken.

“Did they explain what they meant by preparing him?”

“No,” the scratching at her skin was slowly growing to an uncomfortable buzz. “But maybe it has something to do with him knowing that the books are wrong-”

She was cut off by a resounding crash coming from the kitchen. She and Merlin shared a glance, and then he was sprinting out the door. Aelia was hot on his heels.

They found Arthur splayed across the floor, clutching his head.

“Shit!” Merlin gasped and dropped, sliding forward on his knees to reach him.

“What’s wrong with him?” Aelia said anxiously, peering over his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Merlin said, “I don’t- Arthur!”

Arthur groaned as he began to tremble. Merlin gently removed his hands from his head, resting his fingers against Arthur’s temples.

“Just- just reading,” he gasped, “then- everything- my head- _Merlin-”_

“I’m here,” Merlin’s voice shook. Aelia didn’t know what to do. A strange instinct drove her to check the book at Arthur’s side - _Le Morte d’Arthur_ by Sir Thomas Mallory. Some part of her that wasn’t panicking rolled its eyes at the cliche. That part didn't exist in Merlin. To him, this was the other shoe.

“Did the Sidhe tell you anything about this?” He cried wildly. He wasn’t even reproachful, just scared. Scared of losing Arthur the second he got him back.

“Merlin, please- there’s too much, it’s _everywhere-”_

Merlin choked back a sob, fingers trembling where they were pressed to Arthur’s temples. Aelia could hardly think. She replayed everything the Sidhe had said, looking for some hint, some clue, anything, just something come on _please_ \- _oh._

_We have prepared him for the upcoming battle as well as we could._

_So he came back with a super cool language starter pack. That’s convenient._

_But then he started telling me what actually happened- and the strangest part is he was_ right.

_A gift._

Aelia dropped to her knees at Merlin’s side. “Can you see what's happening inside his head?”

Merlin stared at her, eyes wide. “What?”

“Can you see inside his head!” She said urgently. The buzzing under her skin grew with each passing second.

“I- yes. Yes.”

Merlin closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and whispered an incantation. Aelia couldn’t hear it over the roaring of her own ears. Then suddenly his eyes burst with characteristic golden light and he let out an agonized scream, jerking backwards.

“What?” Aelia gripped his wrists as Merlin scrambled away. “What did you see?”

He was sobbing. “No, no, please- it’s too much- he can’t take it it’s _too much-”_

 _“Merlin!”_ Aelia shook him roughly, watched him come back to himself. “What did you see?”

“It’s-“ he choked. “It’s _everything._  The Sidhe gave him everything.”

Aelia glanced back at Arthur, curled up on the ground, head in his hands again as he whimpered.

“What does that mean?” She said. Merlin shook his head. “It means  _everything_. All of history. Every war, every accomplishment, every assassination, every beginning of every family that ever rose to prominence. The Sidhe didn’t just give him _knowledge,_ they gave him the full experience. And it’s either going to drive him mad or it’s going to kill him.”

Aelia gasped. Merlin's face was screwed up in anguish as he struggled back to Arthur’s side and lifted his head onto his knees.

“It’s chaos,” he said. Arthur whimpered under his soothing hands. “I can’t-“

“Show me,” she said. Merlin froze and gaped at her. “Aelia no.”

“Aelia yes,” she replied, “show me.”

Merlin locked his fingers around her wrist in a vice-like grip. "It will _kill_ you. It’s killing him now!”

“I know!” She exclaimed, “Which is why you need to show me, Merlin, because I think I can help.”

He eyes hardened, “Aelia now isn’t the time to play hero-”

She scoffed. The buzz crescendoed within her, threatening to rupture whatever dam held it back. It was now or never.

“When have I ever been good at that Merlin? I’m telling you I can help him now _show me.”_

Merlin hesitated, glancing between her and Arthur. She rolled her eyes. “Oh for fuck’s _sake-”_

Ignored Merlin’s shout of _“No-!”_ she slapped their joined hands to Arthur’s head.

-

It was one thing to read about the past in history books, or to hear stories told around a campfire. But this...

This was something else entirely.

_Barricades rising in the streets of Paris-_

_Militias gathering their weapons in Yorktown-_

_Men dying alone in hospital beds as the AIDS epidemic swept through the country-_

_A man in furs and armor leading his army to victory, and she instinctively knew that it was Owain Glyn Dŵr-_

Arthur’s mind was in shambles. The history of the entire world was taking up residence there, individual events rampaging through his subconscious, triggered by reading about his own death. Aelia separated herself from the melee- just enough, just so she could see the entire, messy picture it painted, to see the memories as they crashed into each other, melding, rotting, rebirthing themselves. Chaos, Merlin had said. Merlin was right.

The buzz had become a clamor, and Aelia focused it all on the bright, angry free-for-all that was Arthur’s mind.

 _“Findan êower besettan,”_ the words came to her unbidden, but so very right. Aelia watched as the memories stopped, turned about, and began stacking themselves into neat chronological rows, then as those rows organized themselves. It was like seeing a living concept map.

“ _Tôcuman mid mâl nîede êower_ ,” Aelia rasped. The map filed itself away neatly. Suddenly everything quieted, righted itself, shook off the dust- and there they were, the memories, glowing innocuously as if that hadn't just been ravaging Arthur's mind beyond reason. The clamor under her skin was gone as well- the gift of the Sidhe had been used up. 

Aelia breathed a sigh of relief-

-

-and opened her eyes.

Arthur was still- his eyes shut, head tilted back on Merlin's lap. He was breathing. Still breathing. Thank God. Aelia slumped back, suddenly exhausted. She almost missed Merlin staring at her like she’d grown a second head.

“What?” She said.

“How did you do that?” His eyes were alight with a wary sort of awe. “No, sorry, how did you _know how_ to do that? How did you know what was happening to him?”

“The Sidhe,” she replied, “Don’t expect anything like that to happen again, please.”

“I won’t,” Merlin assured her. Aelia nodded. She felt like she was about to collapse next to Arthur.

“But I need you to explain it.”

Aelia did collapse at that, groaning all the way. If Merlin wanted to grill her, he would have to let her be grilled from the floor.

"Aelia," he prompted. She kicked at him half-heartedly.

“When I went to the Sidhe, they said they prepared Arthur as well as they could,” she explained, “At first I didn’t know what that meant, but then you told me he was using languages he shouldn’t know and that he was correcting the textbooks you got him. So I thought- hey, maybe they gave Arthur a rundown on history so he won’t be going into the world completely unaware of what happened while he was gone. But I didn’t think . . .”

“What?” Merlin prompted her. Aelia popped her head up to find he wasn't even looking at her, to busy distractedly combing the hair off of Arthur's forehead. Her heart melted a little at the sight. She dropped back down.

“I thought they’d given him the facts, you know? Cold, basic facts. Which is a lot, but... I mean you saw what they did. They gave him, like, visions. That’s... that’s a lot for the human brain to handle. So when I went back to the island, I think they gave me a way to... I don’t know. Put it all into place? Because whatever they did, whatever version of history he’s got in his head, they gave him the one that made him feel like he was right there the whole time. I think they knew it was going to mess him up a little bit.”

“That’s not quite true.”

Aelia shot straight up and hit her head very gracefully against the kitchen table at Arthur’s voice.

“Arthur,” Merlin gasped. He helped him sit, unaware of Aelia wincing and gingerly rubbing the brand new knot that was quickly emerging from her hairline. “Are you alright?”

“Much better, thanks to your apprentice.”

His voice was weak and his hands were a far cry from steady, but his eyes were clear.

“Don’t mention it,” Aelia said, though she had a feeling it fell on deaf ears.

Merlin and Arthur were in their own little bubble. Merlin assessed Arthur’s physical state with the utmost focus, while Arthur stared at him with so much naked fondness Aelia thought she might choke on it- and she wasn’t even on the receiving end. Finally, Merlin deemed Arthur fit enough to survive his next request.

“May I?” He fluttered his fingers about Arthur’s temples. Arthur made a gesture that Aelia took to mean ‘go ahead.’

Merlin touched Arthur’s head and whispered the incantation. This time, he didn’t scream. Aelia watched with interest as his unseeing golden gaze bore straight into the refrigerator.

“Extraordinary,” he gasped.

“Yeah,” Arthur agreed, only he was looking at Merlin- at the way his eyes shone with magic. His hand came up in some aborted movement, face slack with wonder. Aelia couldn’t help but feel as though she was intruding on something that was undeniably private, something intimate beyond measure.

Merlin pulled away after a minute. Arthur seemed disappointed to see him go.

“What did you mean when you said ‘that’s not quite true?’” Aelia asked.

Arthur sighed. Merlin had just barely ceased his hovering, drawing away by a few feet.

“You said that whatever the Sidhe gave me, it made it seem like I was there. I think- I actually was.”

“How is that possible?” Merlin asked.

“I don’t know,” Arthur said, “But I remember all of it. Centuries on centuries, battles, politics, wars. It’s all here, like a library in my head.”

“Like Sherlock,” Aelia joked. To her surprise, Arthur frowned and said, “Who?”

“Not important,” Merlin prevented her from going on a full-blown speech. “You’re saying that the Sidhe let your mind, what, roam the earth while you were gone?”

Arthur’s mouth twisted. “I think it’s more like they directed it to where they believed to be most important- things that would shape the future. Things that’d be relevant to me when I returned.”

“That’s why you can speak so many languages,” Aelia nodded.

“I suppose," Arthur agreed. Then, after a pause, he said, “Thank you, by the way. If it weren’t for you I’d probably be dead. Or out of my mind.”

“No problem,” Aelia said, “can’t have the Once and Future King going mad the second he comes back can we?”

Arthur and Merlin exchanged glance at what Aelia was sure was her expense, but Merlin only smiled and said, “No. No we can’t.”

———

As it turned out, the Sidhe did not deem popular culture to be important. Arthur’s head was almost completely free of it, much to Aelia’s excitement. Which is why they were in the sitting room with a television that Arthur knew how to use, but had almost no interest in.

“I don’t understand the point,” he was telling Aelia as Merlin microwaved popcorn. The Sidhe had apparently deemed technological advancements to be important, but had severely deprived Arthur in understanding their meaning in current society. Aelia had dubbed it ‘Arthurian cultural lag’ and immediately set about finding ways to rectify it. The most important things, she had informed Merlin, were to teach Arthur about the wonders of shitty TV and the internet. Merlin was half horrified and half frustratingly interested in seeing what would result.

Right now, she was trying to explain to what a meme was. Merlin thought that might be a little advanced, and Arthur was clearly struggling with the concept, so he called her into the kitchen to ‘help’ him. He hoped that would give Arthur the ample opportunity he needed to run.

“Everything okay?” Aelia asked as she leaned against the doorway. Merlin nodded, smiling a little as he emptied the popcorn into a bowl.

“I just think you might be going a bit fast for him. Maybe start with something a little more basic.”

She sighed. “You’re probably right.”

She made to return to the sitting room when Merlin stopped her. “Aelia?”

“Yeah?”

He sighed, setting the bowl down beside him. “I’m sorry. About shouting at you. You were right, I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

Aelia shifted her weight back and forth. “S’okay,” she said, “I’m sorry about going to the island without telling you.”

Merlin nodded. “I’m glad you did. That being said-“

“Never again?” She said.

“Right,” Merlin agreed. He looked his apprentice up and down. She didn’t remind him of Morgana now like she had in the study, raising her chin in defiance and shouting her piece. There was too much smiling, too much sincerity- not enough secrecy. It filled him with relief. He grabbed the popcorn bowl and cuffed her gently around the head.

“C’mon,” he said, “let’s go watch Arthur watch Disney movies.”

The Sword in the Stone was admittedly a terrible place to start. Twenty minutes in, Arthur was laughing too hard at the old man version of Merlin to mind when the real Merlin started to calling Wart. Then Arthur began to critique the film's historical accuracy, which led to Aelia tossing popcorn at him, which meant Arthur had to throw popcorn back, which meant Merlin had to wedge himself between them to keep his sitting room from being destroyed. Strangely enough, he found that he really, really didn’t mind.

Aelia ended up falling asleep halfway through the movie.

"Should we wake her?" Arthur whispered.

She'd curled up in a little ball, her nose buried in the throw pillow, her bare toes pressed against Merlin's leg. Dead to the world. She needed it after all the magic she'd done. Maybe Merlin would let her skip class tomorrow...

"Let her sleep," he said. They turned back to the movie, Arthur's body casting a warm line down Merlin's side.

"Hey," he broke the quiet that had settled over them.

"What is it?" Arthur glanced over.

"I'm really glad you're back."

Arthur smiled then, blue eyes sparking in the flicker of the telly. Watching him, Merlin suddenly felt younger than he had in years.

"Me too."


	4. quiet when i’m coming home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were still Merlin and Arthur- still influenced by fate or destiny or whatever other codswallop Merlin insisted bound them together- but they didn't have to be anything else. It was an oddly freeing feeling. A part of Arthur had forgotten what it was like to be 27, forgotten that he was 27. It helped, too, to know that Merlin would still be there whether or not Arthur had a crown on his head. Though he’d never doubted their friendship before, the power imbalance between them had always been subtly prevalent. And maybe its absence had caused this tension, but Arthur couldn’t help but feel like a certain weight had been lifted off of them now that it was gone.
> 
> Except, well...
> 
> Merlin still lied. And he lied quite a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen guys I'm so sorry I haven't updated in so long it's been a crazy few weeks. But now I'm hoping to get back on a regular schedule. Also this chapter had the most rewrites out of anything I've ever written, but I think I got it right in the end. Enjoy!

The Dragon’s Hoard Second-Hand Bookshop was the dustiest place Aelia had ever seen. It was a hidden kind of dusty- like the old books in Merlin’s private collection or the back room of the public library, the kind of dusty you couldn’t get rid of unless you went through every single book, and honestly, who had the time? Aelia could probably take care of it with a flick of her wrist, but that might be conspicuous to the boy breathing down her neck.

It was the same boy she’d seen painting the windows of the shop the day Arthur returned. He was about her age, and pale to the point of pastiness. He had a straight, upturned nose, thick eyebrows, and dark, dark hair. Aelia thought he looked like an even lankier version of Merlin.

He'd been nice enough when Aelia had first come in, but now his blue eyes were boring holes into the back of her head. It probably wasn't that he was trying to make her uncomfortable- maybe it was some mix of timidness and anxiety at being the only employee in the shop. Though she could sympathize with that, she would feel a lot better if he would just _relax._ She was only here for a few things, and she’d assured him that she would be alright on her own. He didn’t need to _watch_  her.

Only now she was rather hopelessly lost amongst their extensive Shakespeare section, and the play she needed was nowhere to be found. She sighed, then wound her way back to the front of the shop.

“Sorry to bother you,” Aelia approached the counter where the boy was stationed. He startled- for all his staring, he clearly hadn’t expected her to speak to him. “I was wondering if you could help me find a play?”

“Sure,” the boy wiped his hands nervously on his jeans. “What’s the play?”

“There are a few,” Aelia handed him her reading list. Long fingers, she noted as he took it- thin and a little knobby, but strong. If they were nimble they'd be good for magic.

“Right,” the boy narrowed his eyes at the list. “We should have all of these in the second-hand section. Right this way.”

The boy was surprisingly efficient and far less awkward than she'd expected him to be once he was given a task. He sailed through the shop with the practiced ease of someone who had been there for a long time, handing book after book back to her.

“So you’re over at Falmouth?” He asked, adding to the growing pile in Aelia’s arms.

“First year,” her voice was muffled- the stack was much higher than she’d expected. “And you?”

“Same as you. I’m surprised I haven’t seen you before.”

Aelia thought back to the glimpse she’d caught of him last time she’d been in town and decided not to mention it. The boy placed another book atop the others. “Me too,” she said.

“And you're American? Oh- sorry,” he reached out to steady the pile, which had begun to tip precariously. “Would you like a basket?”

Aelia nodded gratefully.

“Wait right here,” the boy hurried to the front of the shop. He returned a moment later with a wicker picnic basket. Aelia dumped the books inside. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he grinned. He had a nice grin- it was a little bit shy, but very honest in a way that opened up his whole face.

The moment and the smile must have lasted a second too long, because the next thing she knew, the boy exclaimed, "Arthur!"

Aelia blanched, and then he continued, “You have books about King Arthur on this list.”

She let out a short sigh of relief- _of course._ She really needed to stop doing that whenever someone said anything remotely alluding to Arthur or his return. The week before, Gwen had referred to something as being ‘rather Arthurian,’ and Aelia hadn’t been able to breathe properly for at least a minute. If she kept going like this she was going to earn herself a reputation as the village nut.

“So why are you getting books so late in the semester?” The boy said. Then he realized his own tactlessness, his eyes widening as horror reddened his cheeks. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude-"

Aelia chuckled. “You're fine. Merl- Meraud said the same thing when I told him I was coming here.”

“Meraud? The writer bloke that lives by the lake?”

Aelia quirked an eyebrow. She'd forgotten how quickly news in this village spread, even to newcomers. “That’s him.”

“You live with him?”

“We have the same uncle,” Aelia explained (lied), “just on opposite sides of the family. I used to live with _him,_  but then he had to leave. Meraud and I have known each other for awhile, so when he came to take over the cottage we figured I could just stay.”

“Ah,” the boy nodded, then let out a short laugh. “That’s funny. I live with my uncle now. He runs the shop most of the time. Let’s see, T.H. White...”

“That’s cool,” Aelia commented.

“Yeah, I suppose it is,” the boy grinned fondly and dropped another block of books into the basket, which was slowly becoming a leaden weight on her arms. So much for a few things.

“So where’s your uncle now?” She asked as the boy squatted down to retrieve something from the bottommost shelf.

“He’s at some kind of conference, so I'm in charge of the shop for the weekend. To be honest, I'm a bit nervous. It’s my first time.”

“That explains why you were watching me like I was going to burn the place down,” she laughed. The boy glanced at her, a hand coming up to sheepishly rub the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries,” Aelia barely managed to shrug as the boy placed another book into the basket.

“That’s everything.” He stood and brushed the dust off of his hands. “I’ll get you checked out, and then I can help you carry all this to your car if you like. . ?”

“No, I’m okay,” Aelia said, her shoulders screaming in protest as they headed for the register. “Thank you though.”

“No problem,” the boy smiled again as he slid around the counter. “But really, why so late?”

Aelia snorted as he began scanning the books. “I switched a class. They had an opening in Modern Classic Lit and I was the first on the wait list, so they gave me the option to transfer in past the regular date.”

The boy quirked an eyebrow. “That was kind of them,” he said.

“Very,” Aelia agreed. “But that means I get a whole new reading list.”

“I see,” he chuckled as he scanned the last book and placed the bag into her waiting arms. “There you are.”

“Thank you,” Aelia gripped the bag from the bottom, careful not to let anything fall out.

“Here, let me get the door…”

“Oh, thanks-“

After an awkward scuffle and many half-baked farewells, Aelia finally made it out.

The sky was charcoal-grey. A great roll of thunder permeated the quiet of the village, bringing the smell of ozone along with it. Aelia remembered that Merlin had warned her about thunderstorms and slick roads back at the cottage. She'd waved it off, halfway through composing a text to Rose, but it now seemed that his paranoia was founded. Driving home in this would be ass if she couldn't somehow beat it.

“Wait, sorry-“ the boy said, catching her before she stepped out from the awning. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Aelia,” she smiled. The boy smiled back.

“Miles,” he gestured to himself.

 _Miles._ The name tugged at her subconscious. In Latin, it meant soldier, but in Greek it meant something very different. For the life of her, Aelia couldn't remember what.

She pushed the thought aside and bowed her head slightly. “Nice to meet you Miles.”

“And you,” he said. “Come by sometime, yeah?”

Aelia’s smile grew as she nodded. The boy- _Miles-_  granted her one last pleased grin before he hurried back inside. And just in time too- it had begun to rain.

———

There was a shout of laughter from the other side of the kitchen. Arthur looked up from where he was sitting at the table just in time to see Aelia trudge through the door, weighed down by her soaking jacket and a hefty paper bag, looking like a rather dissatisfied drowned rat. Merlin, standing over a pot on the stove, had his head thrown back in amusement.

“Ha, ha,” she said dryly. She shook her head, sending a rill of water from her damp curls to the tile. “Laugh it up.”

“What happened?” Merlin asked, the corners of his eyes creased with mirth.

“The stupid car wouldn’t unlock. I had to do it manually,” she said moodily over her shoulder, not stopping to chat until she reached her bedroom.

Merlin rolled his eyes fondly, muttering something about needing to get the fob checked out. “How was the bookstore?” He called after her.

“Pretty good!” Came her reply. She emerged from her bedroom a minute later, twisting her hair up into a bun. She’d shed the coat and changed into a pair of those cotton, drawstring pants Merlin kept giving Arthur to wear- sweatpants, she called them. Merlin privately told Arthur that was the very incorrect, very American name for them, and that the proper British term was trackies. Arthur thought they both sounded silly, but he called them sweatpants in front of Merlin just so he could laugh at his scowl.

Even though he’d spent a couple of weeks in the future, Arthur still wasn’t accustomed to the odd way people now liked to dress. Women walked around in what was considered small clothes in Camelot, and don’t even get him started on 'skinny jeans.' Merlin had tried to force him into a pair of the wretched things last week, and Arthur had very heartily rejected. He’d stick to trackies, thanks, or to the looser jeans Merlin had dubbed his ‘dad jeans.’ Arthur hadn't a clue what that meant.

(“It means they’re ugly,” Aelia whispered to him conspiratorially when Merlin mentioned it for the first time.

“Oi!” Merlin had cried as she hid a snigger behind Arthur's back.)

“Did you get everything you need?” Merlin asked. Aelia was hanging over his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse at the pot.

“Yeah,” then to Arthur, “I got the plays you wanted.”

“The Shakespeare ones?” Arthur perked up.

“Yeah, the histories. I don’t know why you want to read those ones, they’re super boring.”

“I like them,” Arthur said.

“Well you’re ancient, aren’t you? Ancient people like boring things. Just ask Merlin.”

"Hey!

She ignored him and migrated to the table, dropping a book Arthur hadn’t noticed she'd been carrying before him. “Here, take your boring history play.”

Arthur rolled his eyes but said, “Thank you," all the while pretending he didn’t notice Merlin's poorly concealed pout.

Aelia had been trying to help Arthur catch up on popular culture. She’d started by compiling lists of movies, books, and television shows he needed to see. Then one day she’d made a joke about someone named Hamlet, and when met with Arthur’s blank stare, realized she needed to go much further back.

It wasn't that Arthur didn't know  _who_ Shakespeare was- he knew that he was a playwright who'd lived in the 16th century, and that he'd brought theatre to the common people. He knew that he was favored by queen Elizabeth I, and then by her nephew, King James. He knew that he was widely regarded as one of the greatest writers of all time. But seeing as he hadn’t exactly gotten to sit down and experience much of the culture when the Sidhe had sent his mind out and about in the world, he was desperately ignorant to the actual plays that made Shakespeare so famous.

Aelia had decided to take a literature class at her university to help him catch up. Soon after finishing _Hamlet_ (he did not appreciate Aelia’s comparison of himself to the prince now that he could understand it _thank you very much),_ he had discovered he rather enjoyed Shakespeare’s work. He quickly read his way through all of the plays in Merlin’s extensive library. The histories were by far his favorite. For Arthur, they turned events he’d actually witnessed into a stunning tale of love and betrayal, tales he could actually _relate_ to. He thought they were fantastic, even if they were, like Aelia said,  _super boring._

Despite her needling at his preferences, Arthur found he actually liked spending time with Aelia. She was funny in a biting, slightly off-kilter sort of way. She spoke almost solely in idioms, and had no problem telling Arthur when she thought he was wrong. She was a surprisingly good listener, once Arthur got past the seven layers of what Merlin called 'typical teenage self-centeredness.' He liked her rants and he liked her humor and he liked how miffed she was about the burning of the library of Alexandria. He liked that he was learning how to get her out of her sullen moods. He liked having someone to complain about Merlin to, and privately liked having someone Merlin complained about to him. She had a rebellious streak a mile wide (“Independent thought Wart,” she’d said), and sometimes she went too far with her teasing, and she called him _Wart_ of all things, but besides that Aelia was quickly becoming his friend. Having her around reminded him of playing with Morgana when they were children, of the early days of Merlin working at the castle before everything became complicated and painful.

“I’m gonna go work on a paper,” Aelia said. “Call me when dinner’s ready?”

Arthur nodded distractedly, already opening the play. He heard more than saw her shuffle back to her bedroom. He was about to settle back and read, but Merlin had other plans.

“Oi, clotpole, come help me with the vegetables, yeah?”

Arthur glanced up at him, noted the slight grin and quirked eyebrow, and sighed.

“And why should I do that?” Arthur said haughtily. Merlin snorted. “Because you live here too.”

Fair point. Arthur gave a begrudging sigh and joined Merlin at the stove.

“Chop the carrots,” Merlin said flippantly, clearly enjoying his momentary power over Arthur more than what was strictly necessary. Arthur let it slide with little more than a childish glare.

He’d never admit it, but he actually liked helping Merlin around the cottage. There was something therapeutic about the easy routine of it- Merlin would teach him how to cook or dust or mop, and then Arthur would inevitably mess it up, and then a fondly exasperated Merlin would correct it. It was something Arthur could rely on, something he knew.

There had been a definite shift in their dynamic since Arthur’s return, a  strange, not-quite-there tension between them. It felt like the early days of their friendship, back when when they were still learning their way around each other. Only now there were fewer antagonistic remarks and goblets thrown at Merlin’s head.

The crux of this out-of-step feeling was that they were equals now in a way that had been impossible for them to be in Camelot. Arthur had been prince and then king, and despite Merlin’s magical power he was still a servant and one of Arthur’s subjects. Here, none of that mattered. They were still Merlin and Arthur- still influenced by fate or destiny or whatever other codswallop Merlin insisted bound them together- but they didn't have to be anything else. It was an oddly freeing feeling. A part of Arthur had forgotten what it was like to be 27, forgotten that he _was_ 27\. It helped, too, to know that Merlin would still be there whether or not Arthur had a crown on his head. Though he’d never doubted their friendship before, the power imbalance between them had always been subtly prevalent. And maybe its absence had caused this tension, but Arthur couldn’t help but feel like a certain weight had been lifted off of them now that it was gone.

Except, well...

Merlin still lied. And he lied quite a lot.

It was a quiet thing, almost too subtle to see. But Arthur had known Merlin for years- he knew when he was telling the truth, and he knew when he wasn't. More often than not, lately, he wasn't. The lies themselves were almost never overt- it was in the way that Merlin dodged his questions, or how he quieted Aelia when she talked about the village, or how he hid the books he dragged up from the basement every night.

And how he hadn’t really done magic since the first day Arthur returned.

“Slow down,” Merlin broke into his thoughts. A gentle hand came up to still Arthur’s on the hilt of the knife, the blade of which was dangerously close to chopping off his fingers. Merlin eased the cutting board away from him and dumped the carrots into the pot as Arthur studied him carefully.

Then there was the fact that Merlin had changed since Camelot. Arthur couldn’t expect that he would've been the same after 1500 years, but he still found himself surprised at how Merlin wore the stubble on his jaw, and at the curl of his hair, and at the years that wore on his eyes whenever he looked at him. Those years hadn't touched the lines of his face, but they had changed the set of his shoulders, and how he doled out his affection, and the way he no longer wore his heart on his sleeve. Yet they hadn't changed that he was still fervently, undeniably _Merlin_. He still smiled with abandon. He still poked fun at Arthur with unbridled fondness. He was still brave and idiotic, still in possession of that one-track mind that Arthur had never quite been able to understand. And he still walked his magic around on eggshells in Arthur's presence.

Of all the things Arthur wanted to stay the same between them, that was not one of them. Especially since there was so much Arthur wanted to ask him about everything- about Camelot, about Merlin, about how many times Merlin had saved Arthur's life.

"Everything alright?"

Arthur realized he'd been quiet for too long. Merlin was starting to sneak worried glances at him from the corner of his eye as he mixed the carrots into the stew.

"Fine," Arthur said brusquely. "Just thinking."

Merlin chortled. "Don't hurt yourself."

Arthur resisted the urge to hip-check him. Yes, Merlin was still very much Merlin, whether Arthur liked it or not.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Merlin said as he covered the stew and set it to simmer.

Arthur leaned back against the counter. Should he say something? Before he wouldn't have hesitated to call Merlin out on his strange behavior, but now...

He didn't want to add to the awkwardness. He didn't want to give Merlin another reason to lie. But he also wanted him to know that he'd noticed, and that he didn't care about the magic, not anymore. Merlin was his greatest friend, glowing eyes and all.

“Why don’t you use your magic around me?”

Merlin stilled. 

"I’m not sure-"

“I know you have it Merlin.” 

Merlin was distinctly silent. Arthur waited.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he finally said, more to the pot than to Arthur. Arthur barely managed not to roll his eyes. _Idiot._ Arthur had allowed Merlin to used his magic _on him,_ why would he be uncomfortable with it now?

“Yes Merlin," he said, "because your magic is by far strangest thing I’ve seen since waking up in the _future.”_

Merlin let out an undignified snort. “No, you’re right. That’s obviously Aelia,” he said.

“I heard that!” A shout came from the other side of the kitchen wall. Merlin chuckled and gave Arthur a secret sort of grin. Arthur wasn’t having it.

“You’re avoiding the question,” he said. Merlin's face dropped and he sighed deeply. “I’m not. I’m just . . . not answering right now.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Well is something wrong with it?”

“No,” Merlin shook his head. “I’m just - I’m not - I just don’t feel like using it.”

He was lying.

“Merlin-"

“Dinner’s ready!” He shouted, almost into Arthur’s ear. There was a distinct snap from Aelia’s room.

“Just a minute!” She called.

Merlin turned to Arthur. “Look, I promise everything is fine. I just needed a break from using magic for everything.”

“But you don’t use magic for anything,” Arthur protested. “Not even for your bottle- ship- things.”

“Exactly!”

Aelia padded into the kitchen, stopping short when she saw that dinner clearly wasn’t ready.

“Set the table,” Merlin said to her. She groaned. “You tricked me.”

“I did,” Merlin said cheerfully. “Dinner will be ready by the time you set the table.”

“Merlin,” Arthur tried again as Aelia sulkily began pulling out placemats.

“Arthur, if something were wrong, I’d tell you. Trust me,” Merlin said earnestly.

Arthur pursed his lips. He wasn’t about to let Merlin get away that easily, but he caught the wide-eyed, imploring look Merlin had fixed him with and sighed. The thing was, Arthur _did_ trust Merlin. Even with all of his secrets- even if it was unwise- he trusted Merlin almost unconditionally. He sighed and nodded.

“Thank you,” Merlin gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Dinner was not, in fact, ready by the time Aelia finished setting the table. She heaved an exaggerated sigh and proceeded to hang around the kitchen, poking fun at Merlin and sneakily retrieving a bottle of wine from the cabinet for herself and Arthur. They were both halfway through their glasses before Merlin noticed and stole the bottle away for himself, much to her protest.

“You have class tomorrow,” he reminded her.

“It’s one glass,” she squawked, though already her cheeks were slightly flushed and her movements looser. Merlin rolled his eyes. “And that’s enough to do you in.”

Arthur smothered a laugh as Merlin firmly yanked the bottle from her hands.

The smell of fresh bread wafted through the kitchen as Merlin put them to work setting out the stew and the salad. When they were done, Arthur retrieved his book from the bench and took it back to his bedroom.

Arthur’s room had been the guest bedroom before he arrived. Only no one had come to stay in a long while, so Merlin had converted it for him. It was far smaller than his chambers in Camelot had been, but the bed was so soft he found he found that didn’t mind, and there was a decent sized washroom down the hall that he shared with Merlin. That was a luxury he never thought possible- an entire room dedicated to bathing. The tub was fixed, like in a bath house, and far larger than the wooden one he’d used in Camelot. Running water came out of a spout like in the Upper town, but it could be hot as well as cold depending on how one twisted the handle. Arthur had once spent an hour just watching water fall into the tub before Merlin asked him to turn it off- something about running up the water bill.

When Arthur returned to the kitchen, Aelia and Merlin were at the table, speaking in hushed tones.

“Arthur,” Merlin noticed him as he took what had become his seat, kiddie corner from Aelia and across from Merlin.

“Smells great,” he said, and waited for Aelia to silently pray before digging in.

The stew was delicious, the bread crusty, and the conversation engaging. Aelia, Arthur had discovered, was an energetic storyteller. She always had something to share, and did so using large gestures and astonishingly scathing language. Tonight, she was telling them about someone named Tilly.

“She’s just- ugh,” she scowled as she aggressively dunked a piece of bread into her stew. “She’s always _looking_ at me, but she never says anything. It’s so annoying. Like, I’m here to get an education. Please fucketh off with your petty high school shit.”

“Language,” Merlin droned, more as a reflex than an actual warning. “Why don't you just see what she wants?”

“No way. She broke up with me, if there's gonna be any contact, it has to come from her. That's how it works."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Dear Lord."

“And this Tilly person is..?” Arthur asked. Across from him, Merlin froze minutely.

“My ex-girlfriend,” Aelia said around a mouthful of stewy bread.

Arthur choked on his salad. He actually knew what that word meant.

“Your ex- _what?”_ He asked hoarsely. Aelia shrank noticeably in her chair when she said, “Girlfriend,” in a much smaller voice than before.

“You had a-? You _courted-?”_

“Oh please, Arthur,” Merlin snapped. His mouth was hard but his eyes were strangely . . . vulnerable. Scared. Like they’d been the first few days he’d been back, looking at him like he’d disappear at any second. “You know as well as I do that there were knights in Camelot that preferred the company of men to that of women.”

Of course he did. Some of them had been his closest friends- Gwaine, who'd enjoyed either party in his bed, Percival, who'd always politely turned away from the ladies of the court, his eyes straying to a shiny brown head and a churlish grin, and Elyan, who hadn’t wanted anyone's company outside the friendly game of dice at the tavern. Hell, Arthur  _himself_ had kissed a few squires in his time, not that Merlin would know. It had been before he'd come to Camelot.

“That’s not what I meant,” he held a finger up at Merlin. “I’m just- I’m surprised, is all. It was never quite . . . public. Back then.”

Aelia brightened. “Oh. Well. It is now. I mean, not everyone _loves_ it, but . . .”

She trailed off, and memories flooded Arthur’s mind- rioting in the streets, two women being pulled violently away from each other when they dared to hold hands, men dying alone in hospital beds as their lovers waited outside the door, barred from their rooms. His hands curled into fists. “I understand,” he said.

Merlin tipped an eyebrow at him. “We’ve come a long way,” he said quietly. Arthur nodded stoically. A long way, sure. But how many had it cost to get there? It wasn't fair, it wasn't _right,_ God, why hadn't-?

A gentle touch to his wrist interrupted his train of thought. Arthur looked up to find Merlin, blue eyes searching, fingers wrapped around his pulse. He nodded- _I’m alright_. Merlin relinquished his hold.

“Is it the-“ Aelia gestured to her own head- “the… map, library thing?”

Arthur hesitated before nodding. What he'd dubbed the library in his head had the tendency to pop out at odd times. It wasn’t something Arthur could control- which he supposed was good. Already there had been instances in which the library volunteered information to him that Arthur never would even have known how to look for. But sometimes it was difficult. It was almost as if there was another version of Arthur living in his head, a version that had watched history unfold, that had watched Gwen marry and bear children, had seen her die, and had seen the kingdom fall. Arthur was constantly young and ancient, on guard and at ease, grieving and far removed from grief as a result. Merlin was the only thing both versions of Arthur had in common- the first was relieved to find him in the future, the one in the library had missed him more than he should probably miss a manservant.

Maybe more than he should miss a friend.

The thought jarred him suddenly, heightened by the intensity of Merlin’s gaze on him.

“Arthur?” He said hesitantly.

"I’m fine," he said, forcing his jaw to relax even as his fist tightened around his fork.

Aelia looked down at the table, shoulders hunched. "It’s giving you problems, isn’t it? Fuck, I knew the spell was crude, but I thought-"

"The spell wasn’t crude," Merlin said reproachfully. "It was one of the most elegant enchantments I’ve seen in a long while. I think..." he stared at Arthur, cool and clinical. "I think it just needs more time to settle."

 _Settle,_ Arthur scoffed. _Right_. Merlin glared at him. "It’s true," he insisted. "The only way that library will feel less alien is if you use it."

Arthur rolled his eyes. Of course. Because nothing was ever easy, so Arthur could look forward to being assaulted by memories every time he opened a history book or listened to Aelia talk politics.

"What if..." Aelia began thoughtfully. "What if we took him into the village?"

"No," Merlin said immediately.

"Okay, but listen," she continued. Her eyes shone as she leaned forward. "It’d be a great learning experience for him! He’d get to see the shops, he’d get to ride in a car, he’d get to meet people that aren’t us. He’d get to do something besides vacuuming or reading, Merlin! That’s all he’s done since he got here."

Arthur opened his mouth to protest, "I’ve done more than just-"

 _"And,"_ she interrupted, "we could show him how to do the grocery shopping."

"Aelia, for the last time, we are not putting _King Arthur_ on our _chore wheel!"_

 _"You’re_ on it!"

"It's _my_ chore wheel!"

"But-!"

"If I may,"Arthur broke into what was quickly becoming a shouting match. "I agree with Aelia."

Merlin huffed. "Of course you do," he muttered. Arthur kicked him under the table.

"Ha!" Aelia exclaimed. Merlin kicked Arthur right back.

"Tomorrow then?" Arthur said jovially at the sight of Merlin’s scowl.

"Perfect," Aelia grinned and rose, taking her plate with her. "Are you done?"

Arthur nodded and sat back, allowing her to clear his plate and Merlin’s. As soon as her head was turned, Merlin leveled him with a glare that was no more terrifying than that of a kicked puppy.

"You’re an _arse,"_ he whispered. Arthur chuckled lowly as they stood up and began clearing the other dishes.

"Only for you," he said, and very much did _not_ wince when Merlin knocked him in the ribs with one of those bony little javelins he called elbows.

As soon as they'd finished with the washing up (Arthur had only broken one plate this time), Aelia retreated to her room and Merlin to his study, leaving Arthur to his own devices.

The first week he’d lived here, Merlin had been loathe to leave him alone at all. Now that he’d assured himself (or rather  _Arthur_ had assured him) that he was neither in danger of going anywhere nor breaking the telly, he was allowed to roam the house as he pleased. There was, of course, the open invitation to join Merlin in his study, but Arthur hadn’t taken him up on it yet.

Arthur hadn't the faintest clue what Merlin was doing in there, or the courage to ask about it. He told himself that it was because Merlin wouldn't give him a straight answer anyway, but if he were being honest, it was because he hated the blankness that entrapped Merlin's face when he lied. He'd been avoiding certain questions just to keep from seeing it.

Halfway through _King Lear_ Arthur lost his focus and could not, for the life of him, find it again. The words of the play kept running together, Lear replaced by Uther and Cordelia interchangeably with himself and Morgana. Arthur rubbed his eyes. He needed a break. He slid a bookmark between the pages (though Aelia assured him it was acceptable to fold them down to keep his place while Merlin _laughed_ in the background like the traitor that he was. Geoffrey’s glares in the face of a defiled book had been terrifying, and Arthur wouldn’t be shamed into Merlin’s recklessness no matter how much he poked fun) and went in search of Aelia. She was in her room, hunched over her desk, typing furiously.

“One sec,” she said, chewing at her lip as her fingers flew over the keys of her magic box _(laptop,_ his mind supplied) _._ “And...done."

She turned to Arthur. “What’s up?”

He held up the play. “I was wondering if you had anything else,” he said. She frowned. “Are you done with that already?”

“Not yet,” Arthur said. “Will be in about an hour though.”

She quirked an eyebrow, impressed. “Alrighty then. Let me get you the next one.”

She stood and stretched, joints popping, then prodded lazily over to the bags she’d brought home. That’s when Arthur noticed something lying on her desk, just within reach from where she’d been sitting.

The knife was tiny- its blade was less than 3 inches in length and made of what appeared to be shiny, rainbow-colored steel. _Throwing knife,_ his mind supplied. He picked it up. The balance wasn’t excellent for him, but it was polished and obviously well cared for. It was Aelia's, clearly, but what for? Before he could answer that for himself, she returned with the books, freezing when she saw what was in his hands.

“What’s this?” He asked.

“A knife,” she said hesitantly as she handed him a new play- _Henry V._ Arthur tucked it under his arm with _King Lear._

“Why do you have it?” Arthur raised a careful eyebrow. Aelia shifted her weight back and forth between her feet. “...For safety,” she muttered. Arthur cocked his head. “But you have magic.”

Aelia rolled her eyes and made a grab for the knife. Arthur reared back.

“Give it,” she said petulantly.

“Not until you tell me why someone as powerful as you needs a knife to protect themself.”

Aelia scowled. “I’m not that powerful.”

“Liar,” Arthur said. “Now really, why do you have it?”

Aelia gave up, dropping back. She held Arthur’s gaze for a long moment, then huffed and held out her hand. Arthur’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline as he handed Aelia the knife.

"Stand back," she said. Arthur obeyed. Aelia scanned the room. When she seemed to find what she was looking for, she drew her arm back and flung the knife forward. There was a wet slice, a clatter, and a moment later the apple that had been sitting atop her dresser rolled into view, the rainbow blade stuck firmly in its core. Arthur whistled.

“That was quite impressive,” he said.

“It was a waste of a good apple,” Aelia grumbled. Arthur chose to ignore it. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

She shrugged. “YouTube.”

 _Online video streaming service,_ his mind supplied.

“Why?” He asked, because she hadn’t quite answered him before.

“Because I like it,” she said, bending down to extract her knife from the fruit. “Because I’m good at it.”

“You’re good at magic,” Arthur said. Aelia shook her head derisively as she cleaned the blade with her shirt. “Not battle magic. The most I can do is a stunning spell, and that’s only so effective.”

“Can’t Merlin teach you more?”

Suddenly her face darkened. Her voice was colored with bitterness when she said, “Merlin hasn’t taught me much of anything lately.”

Arthur shifted. He and Aelia had jokingly complained to each other about Merlin before (mostly in regards to his cleaning habits) but this was... deeper. There was a legitimate anger here that their usual playful libel had never roused. Arthur didn’t quite know what to do with it.

“I could teach you how to fight,” the words were out of his mouth before he could register them. Aelia’s head snapped up.

“It wouldn’t be magic,” he said, “but I can teach you to fight like a knight. Hand-to-hand, swords, knives-“

“Yeah.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah?”

Aelia grinned, just a little. Just enough.

“Yeah.”

Arthur bit back a smile. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.”

“We’re going into town tomorrow,” she said. Arthur pursed his lips in embarrassment and nodded. “The day after then.”

“Sounds good,” Aelia said.

“Alright then,” Arthur nodded again. “Goodnight Aelia.”

“Goodnight Arthur.”

Arthur couldn’t help the quiet thrill that ran through him as he walked back to the sitting room. God, he hadn’t had a new knight in _years,_ not since. . .

No. Don’t think about that. Aelia wasn’t Mordred.

Arthur shook his head, forcing all thoughts of young knights and betrayal out of his mind and instead focusing on what drills he wanted to teach Aelia as he reopened his book. He couldn't find his place again, his head was too full to read. _But not to talk,_ he thought as he spied Merlin’s door. It was ever so slightly ajar, a silent invitation.

_Maybe . . ._

———

Merlin was completely, thoroughly, _utterly_ exhausted. He slammed another book shut and collapsed against the table. Two weeks he’d been searching, looking for a spell, a prophecy- hell, an old poem some drunken squire etched into a barstool- and he’d turned up nothing. Not even the barest hint as to why Arthur had returned.

He heaved a sigh as he traced the wood carvings that ran along the arm of his chair. It wasn’t that he wasn’t _happy_ thatArthur was back- far from it. Every morning when Merlin walked into the kitchen to find him already sitting at the table, reading, and drinking the coffee Aelia had made for all of them, his heart leapt ecstatically in his chest and he couldn’t help the stupid grin that spread across his face. He’d wanted this for so long, _so long,_ and to have it was . . .

Perfect. Amazing. Wonderful. Jarring in the best, strangest ways.

And terrifying, because for the life of him, Merlin couldn’t figure out _why._

There had been so many other times when he’d thought Arthur would rise. The first Great War, then the second, then the Cold War, then the conflict in the Middle East, then Brexit- though that was still a bit up in the air so maybe...

No. No, there was no outright, clear cut reason for Arthur to return, and it was driving Merlin absolutely mad. He’d turned to prophecies, to legends, to the incoherent ramblings of the wildest minds he’d ever encountered, to the writings of charlatans and wise men- Merlin had left no stone unturned. There was nothing. No reason. And no one could help him except-

No. Don’t go there. The Sidhe had done their duty, they would do no more.

Useless assholes.

 _Of course, you could always just send Aelia_ the traitorous little voice in the back of his mind whispered.  _They might speak to her._

Merlin shook his head. _No._ The Sidhe were deceptive and greedy and _cold;_ Merlin couldn’t afford to believe that their interest in Aelia was in any way benevolent _._ He’d only entrusted them with Arthur because he hadn’t had another choice. There was no way in hell he was letting Aelia anywhere near them again, not if he could help it.

He wondered, briefly, if the Sidhe had the same suspicions he did. About Aelia. About Morgana. If they saw the same soul shining out of two different pairs of eyes the way he did. Not always, but often enough. Enough that Merlin had cause to worry.

Enough that he’d put their lessons on hold.

He wasn't sure if she'd noticed. She still came by to ask for books. She still practiced her spells and joked and berated Merlin any chance she got. If she did notice anything strange, she'd probably chalked it up to Arthur being back. And Merlin _had_ been working more since he’d arrived- writing more for the journals, and making more potions to sell. It wasn’t that money was tight per se. Merlin had a stock portfolio that could make Jeff Bezos jealous; Aelia was going to Falmouth on scholarship and was the sole heir of her mother’s estate aside from Merlin, and Merlin’s only inheritance had been the care of her daughter.

God, Merlin remembered the absolute shitstorm that had gone down when that was announced.

It had been 5 weeks after the funeral, 6 since Aelia had left Cornwall, when Merlin had gotten a phone call.

“I need you here.”

All it had taken was those four words, and Merlin was whispering an aging spell and portaling halfway across the world to his apprentice’s side. She’d been staying at their house- well, her house now. Merlin had stayed there with her for the funeral, and for a few days after.

(He’d offered to stay until she was ready to return with him.

“I can get Gwen and Eli to watch the house,” he’d said, “whatever you want.”

And Aelia, brave, wise little Aelia, only looked tempted for a moment before she shook her head and smiled. “I think I need time with my family,” she’d said.

 _I think you need time to mourn._ )

She welcomed him with open arms and a smile that actually reached her eyes. They’d cooked dinner for themselves and eaten in companionable silence. Then Aelia sat him down with a cup of chai and said, “They’re deciding guardianship tomorrow.”

Merlin had nodded slowly. He’d been expecting this. There was a good chance Aelia wouldn't be able return to Cornwall to complete her apprenticeship unless her new guardian agreed. And unless that was one of Kaeis’s siblings who had magic, that was very unlikely.

Aelia had taken a deep breath and said, “My mother appointed you.”

Merlin’s head had snapped up.

“She did what?”

“She appointed you,” Aelia had said quietly. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her. “She didn’t tell you, did she?”

“No,” Merlin had said. There was a pregnant pause.

“Who else knows?” He’d finally asked. She twisted her fingers. “Uncle Omar,” she began to tick off names. “Aunt Aida. My cousin Isaac-”

Merlin sighed with relief. He’d met them before, when Kaeis had been his apprentice. All of them had magic. That was good.

“-and my Uncle Saad and Aunt Miriam. They want to contest it,” she avoided his gaze.

“Oh,” he said, then, “Why?”

“Apparently when I was born, they’d been named as my potential guardians. But then when I started living with you, she changed it in case . . . Well, in case.”

 _In case something happened._ Merlin nodded.

“Uncle Omar and Aunt Aida are prepared to back your claim if you want it,” Aelia said. Merlin frowned. Why would she say _if_ he wanted- _oh._

Suddenly he understood the shifty eyes and the fidgeting and this whole ordeal. He reached across the table and covered her small hands with his own.“Of course I want it,” he’d said, “don’t be stupid.”

And Aelia had smiled minutely and squeezed his palm in gratitude.

The next day, Aelia had sat straight backed and solemn in her sitting room while Saad and Miriam argued with the executor that was perched uncomfortably on the couch across from them. Merlin crosses his arms, watching from where he stood in the corner. By now the news had spread to the rest of the family. More and more people were showing up. Some of them were there to support Merlin’s claim, but many others had come to support Saad and Miriam’s.

“Aelia should be _here,_ at _home,_ not gallivanting halfway across the world with that man. We don't even know if he's fit to raise a child!” Saad hadargued. The executor had sighed as she closed her briefcase. “I’m sorry sir. But Kaeis explicitly stated that in the event if her passing, she wanted Wyllt Emrys to act as Aelia’s guardian.”

“He’s not even-“ Miriam had protested only for the executor to cut her off- “He is her uncle. And moreover, you’ll have a difficult time contesting Kaeis’s will in the basis of his being unfit to raise her when she’s been living with him for the past 18 months. The only claim you’d have is if Aelia wanted to live with you.”

“She does!” Saad had exclaimed.

“No I-“

“Saad!”

A new voice had erupted from the doorway. The small crowd that had gathered in the foyer parted to reveal a small, ancient-looking woman, dressed in flower print, rolling forward in a wheelchair that Omar was pushing. She had tubes in her nose, and a tank at her side, but her eyes were clear and filled with flinty disapproval. Merlin almost laughed in relief. This was Batoul: his oldest living apprentice, and Aelia’s grandmother.

She said something in rapid-fire Chaldean that had Saad shuffling his feet. Omar translated for the crowd. “Nana thinks that Aelia should keep studying with Wyltt.”

If anyone else had said it, it would have caused an uproar. But Nana’s word was law in the Thomas family. Aelia went to kneel beside her, reverently kissing her hand and whispering “thank you,” in Chaldean. Batoul nodded graciously, pulled Aelia up, and kissed her firmly on both cheeks.

“You will make your mother proud,” she replied. Aelia gave a watery smile and nodded.

Batoul, Omar, Aida, and their families had spent the night. Merlin had de-aged himself long enough for Batoul to berate him for he never doing anything to ease her aches and pains. Merlin had laughed as Aelia rolled her eyes, shooting something to her Nana in Chaldean that had made her smile, then snap her thin fingers. Aelia yelped and glared half-heartedly at the old woman as her messy hair floated up toward the ceiling, which only made Merlin laugh harder.

They’d cooked and laughed and reminisced, telling stories about Kaeis and her adventures. Aelia never strayed far from Batoul’s side. They spent the night exchanged stories and tricks and spells, smiling secretively until it was time for Batoul to retire. The rest of the family followed soon after that.

Aelia returned to Cornwall with him the next day. She was still quiet, but somehow she seemed lighter. More... centered. Merlin had been glad for it.

“Merlin?”

He was yanked from his reminiscing by a loud knock on the door.

"Are you in there?"

Arthur. Arthur was at the door.

Oh shit. _Arthur was at the door._

“Just a moment!” He called as he scrambled around the table, haphazardly throwing his books into the crate by the chair. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Arthur to see his research, it was just that, well, he didn’t really want Arthur to see his research.

“Come in!” He called as he gave the crate an unceremonious kick, singing it under his desk and out of sight.

Arthur entered, one eyebrow raised as he regarded Merlin’s disheveled appearance.

“Is everything alright?” He asked.

“I was just about to ask you the same question,” Merlin said.

The second eyebrow came up to join the first. “Why?”

“Because, er…” Merlin stalled, glancing fervently around the room. “Because you’ve never come in here before.”

Arthur’s face melted into one of rueful amusement, and Merlin’s shoulder’s slumped in relief.

“Yes, well,” Arthur said, “first time for everything.”

“Right,” Merlin said. He made his way toward the fireplace, gesturing for Arthur to follow him, and was more than a little pleased when he did.

“How are you doing?” Merlin asked as he retrieved the flint from the mantle.

“Alright,” Arthur replied. “My head still feels absolutely stuffed.”

Merlin chuckled and leant down, flicking the flint against the stone. The spark caught, and soon enough there was a small fire flickering in the grate. Merlin turned around to find Arthur standing over him, gazing into the flames. He had a strange look on his face, something like confusion and hurt and remorse all rolled into one. Merlin suddenly remembered what Arthur had said to him in the kitchen.

_Why don’t you use your magic around me?_

“Would you like to sit down?” Merlin said. His voice came out quieter than he’d intended- rougher too. Arthur didn't seem to catch it. He readily sank into the chair opposite of Merlin's, the one Merlin had always secretly thought of as _his_. He watched with unabashed awe as Arthur sprawled out across the leather, just like Merlin had always imagined him doing. _Almost like he belonged-_

_Don’t finish that thought._

Merlin sat down in his own armchair, curling his knees in as Arthur peered at him from half-closed eyelids.

“It’s beautiful,” Arthur said quietly, gesturing to the study. Merlin’s mouth quirked up. “Thank you.”

Arthur hummed. “It’s different. From Camelot.”

Merlin nodded slowly. “Well, I’m different.”

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “Barely,” he scoffed.

Merlin guffawed. “Oh really?”

“Really,” Arthur said. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “You’re still a hopeless idiot for one.”

Merlin too busy staring at the exposed line of Arthur’s neck and the relaxed curve of his mouth to formulate a response to that. There was something different about him tonight, something familiar. Merlin couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“And you’re still a clotpole,” he said as he continued to study him. “Are those my trackies?”

“Everything I wear is yours Merlin,” Arthur said amiably. “I haven’t got any clothes of my own.”

 _Comfortable,_ Merlin realized suddenly. Arthur looked comfortable.

He lifted his head up. “We can rectify that when we go into the village.”

Arthur’s tone was imperious but his smile was positively wicked. Merlin groaned. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

“Absolutely,” Arthur said, head cocked like it always was when he faced off against beasts and sorcerers and immortal armies. Merlin rolled his eyes and sighed. He'd almost forgotten how Arthur treated every obstacle or inconvenience like a battle- Lancelot's knighthood, his almost-marriage to Elena, his father's disapproval of Gwen-

_Gwen._

Merlin sat up suddenly in his chair.

“What is it?” Arthur said.

Oh _fuck,_ he’d completely forgotten. It had just slipped his mind.

“Merlin?”

And what was he supposed to say? He couldn’t _believe_ he'd forgotten that Gwen would be in town tomorrow. He still hadn't figured out how to tell Arthur she was back- didn't know if he even _should._ She wasn't Arthur's Guinevere. Knowing she was alive would do nothing but hurt him. Still, he deserved to.

“ _Merlin,”_ Arthur straightened, all traces of lethargy gone. “What’s wrong?”

No, no this could still work out. Merlin just had to keep Arthur from the café and everything would be fine. Yes, Arthur deserved to know that Gwen was back as well. But not yet. Not until Merlin knew how to say it.

“Nothing,” he said instead. “It’s- I couldn’t remember if I turned the stove off.”

It was a lame excuse. Arthur fixed him with a scrutinizing eye, and Merlin was certain that he was going to see through its lameness. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Are you sure that’s all it is?” He asked.

Merlin willed his voice not to break when he lied, “Yes.”

Something dark and vulnerable flickered over Arthur's face, but it wasn't there long enough for Merlin to identify what it was.

“Alright,” he said quietly. He sank back into his chair and Merlin felt like he could breathe again.

“About dinner,” Arthur changed the subject. He sounded almost... unsure of himself. Merlin glanced up, frowning.

“What about it?”

“I’m sorry. About how I reacted to Aelia's courtship. I didn’t meant to- I wasn’t trying to be-“

“I know,” Merlin cut in. Arthur’s mouth quirked minutely.

They lapsed back into silence.

“It’s called dating now, by the way,” Merlin said.

“Hmm?”

“You don’t court someone, you date them.”

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “What the hell is a date?”

Merlin chortled. “It’s when two people go out and do something together. Like when you used to take ladies on picnics.”

“Well why not just call it courtship?” Arthur said, tossing his hands into the air. He’d effectively collapsed back into his cushion and now seemed determined to become apart of it.

“I don’t know,” Merlin said. “Just how it is now.”

Arthur huffed. “Well it’s _stu_ pid.”

“You’re stupid.”

Merlin was promptly hit in the face with a well-aimed pillow. He strong armed it back at Arthur and earned a grunt for his effort. This was normal, the two of them bickering by the fire. Merlin felt almost at peace.

“I did want to ask you about something,” Arthur said, tossing the pillow back to Merlin. “I was wondering if I could teach Aelia to fight.”

Merlin frowned minutely as he caught it. “What do you mean, fight?”

“Swords,” Arthur said, casually ticking off a finger. “And knives. And a bow and arrow. And the mace, of course.”

Merlin glared half-heartedly at him.

“Oh, and I'd like to teach her some hand to hand combat. Just to round it all out.”

Merlin gave him a reproachful look. “You want to turn my apprentice into a knight.”

“With your permission.”

And Merlin should have been able to resist, but Arthur’s eyes were shining with an excitement that would have been invisible to all but a few, and his mouth was already curling into that victorious grin, and really Merlin had no chance because the next thing he knew he was saying, “As long as I don't have to be your royal practice dummy. And if she starts falling behind in school she’s stopping.”

Arthur was practically beaming. Merlin watched him helplessly.

“Wonderful,” he said. Then he stood, and Merlin couldn’t help the crestfallen look that surely flashed over his face.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Arthur said. _O_ _h._ Alright.

Sure enough, Arthur returned, book in hand, flopping into the chair.

Almost like he belonged there.

———

Arthur woke to an overcast sky and the sound of music filtering into his bedroom. He rose groggily, pulling a sweatshirt over his head, nearly tripping over an uneven crack in the floorboards as he went. Aelia and Melin were already up and puttering about the kitchen when he entered. The source of the music was an old box - _radio-_ perched on the windowsill by Merlin’s plants. Merlin himself was sprawled at the kitchen table, his head cradled in his arms, nursing a hefty mug of coffee. Aelia stood at the stove, humming quietly along to the the song. She was still in her pajamas, her wild curls pulled up in a messy knot. When she spotted Arthur she grinned and said, “Good morning!”

He stopped short, eyeing the large frying pan in front of her, and the remains of what appeared to be a good two pounds of a meat on the cutting board to her right. The rest of it was in the pan, diced small, simmering with tomatoes and green peppers and onions.

“What are you making?” He made to get a closer look, but Aelia knocked him aside with her hip, heaping a small spoonful of some ground up spice into the mix and stirring.

“Pusra khilya,” she said. Her voice lilted with the words, the ‘r’ bouncing against the roof of her mouth.

“I’m sorry?” He said. Behind him Merlin groaned. “Aelia, stop trying to confuse him.”

“Chili fry,” she said as she aimed a glare over his shoulder at Merlin. “My mom used to make it for us every Saturday. It’s good, don’t worry.”

“Don’t forget the bread,” Merlin said.

“It's already in the oven. You could help, you know,” she shot back. Merlin flapped his hands, refusing without so much as looking up. Arthur snorted at their antics and helped himself to a cup of coffee before joining Merlin at the table.

“How’d you sleep,” he smirked at his prone form.

“Don’t start,” Merlin said darkly. “How late were we up?”

“Not too late,” Arthur said. They’d spent the evening alternating between reading and reminiscing; Arthur regaling Merlin with tales of his princely adventures before he’d arrived in Camelot, while Merlin recounted his multiple heroic exploits over his years by the lake. Arthur remembered laughing as Merlin’s face turned sour at the mention of Queen Victoria, who’d apparently tried to chop his head off for some reason or another. Then they’d go back to reading, and then one of them would think of some memory and the whole cycle would start all over again. They’d fallen asleep sometime after midnight, only to wake in the wee hours. He remembered hauling Merlin to bed, his warm breath puffing against Arthur’s neck. The memory sent a strange rush along Arthur’s spine, soupy and familiar, coming up to flood at his chest. He frowned and tamped it down, then reached over and rubbed his knuckled into Merlin’s scalp to re-establish some kind of balance in him. Perhaps he was sick.

Merlin batted him away without lifting his head as Aelia brought the food to the table.

It smelled wonderful- meaty and spicy and warm, somehow. The bread had been heated in the oven instead of the toaster, and Aelia had added a fried egg to each plate. Merlin folded his in half and ate it like a sandwich, and Arthur followed suit.

God, it tasted delicious too- hearty and flavorful like nothing he’d ever tasted. Arthur took another bite with gusto, and was satisfied to see Merlin do the same.

“I told you he’d like Chaldean food,” Aelia said snidely. Merlin shrugged. “I stand corrected.”

Arthur didn’t fully turn his attention back to the conversation untilhis plate was clear, and Aelia had begun to talk about going into town.

“We have to go by the café of course,” she was saying to Merlin, “everyone wants to meet you.”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” Merlin said.

He glanced up to find Merlin watching him quietly. He had that look in his eye again- the one that meant he was holding something back. It reminded him of something he had talked to Aelia about the week before, after he'd finished  _Much Ado About Nothing._ Of lies of omission. Of secret keeping and incomplete truths.

Merlin's lies were never overt.

“Maybe we should start smaller, take him to see the shops and the cars and such-“

“I’d like to go,” Arthur said, surprising himself, then surprising himself more to find that he meant it. Merlin’s eyes widened, taken aback.

“Arthur, I really don't-"

"I'd like to go," he said again, firmer this time. His fingers tightened around his mug. Whatever Merlin was hiding, some of the answers lay in this café place. He was determined to find them.

Aelia shifted uncomfortably, “Arthur, it’s really okay. I understand if-“

“The café sounds lovely," Arthur said. His tone left no room for argument. "Excuse me.”

He stood, dropped his dishes in the sink, and then retreated from the kitchen, ignoring the scrape of a chair that was undoubtedly Merlin's as he walked- back straight, chin raised, every bit the king and soldier he was raised to be.

He reached his room without being accosted. Then there was a quiet, familiar knock at his back.

“Arthur?”

Merlin didn't wait for a response before he entered.

“Are you alright?”

Arthur gazed somberly out at the rolling hills. Though he knew Cornwall had sprung out of Camelot, it was still a pleasant shock when Arthur could pick out familiar hills. There, he and Morgana had played as children. There was the hillside he’d taken Gwen to for their first outing, just the two of them. There was the last place he’d seen his father laugh. There...

There, Merlin had fallen into a stream during a hunt, and spent the entire ride back to Camelot complaining. There, Merlin had emerged, muddy and disgusting and _alive,_ grinning like a fool after they’d been separated by that avalanche. There, at the edge of the forest, Merlin had held him as he died. There and there and there-

Merlin shuffled behind him, hand coming up to rest on his shoulder. “Is there anything I can do?”

Arthur sighed and kept his eyes on the horizon. Cornwall might have sprung from Camelot, but besides the landscape, everything about it had changed- the people, the language, the houses... There was no place for Arthur to call home in this new world. There was nothing familiar besides Merlin. Merlin who lied, who kept things from him, who didn't seem to trust Arthur enough to use his own _magic_ in his presence.

_You can tell me the truth for once._

“I feel older,” he said instead. It wasn't a lie by any means.

Merlin moved to stand by his side. He pressed his shoulder against Arthur’s, a quiet gesture. Arthur continued.

“It’s like- everything I’ve seen, everything I know- it's all... crowded. In my head. Half the time I don’t even know if what I’m remembering is real or if I dreamt it. And every time I wake up it’s… strange.”

“How so?”

“Sometimes I expect to be in Camelot,” he said hesitantly. “But sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t be awake at all.”

Arthur felt more than heard Merlin's sharp intake of breath. he bit back the guilt that rose like bile in his throat. That wasn't technically a lie either. The first few days were difficult- Arthur had either awoken half-expecting to find crimson drapes rippling around his bed and jarred by the momentary lack of familiarity of his bedroom here, or jarred by the fact that he was awake at all. But it hadn't happened at all in the last week.

“When I’m here, with you and Aelia,” he went on, “it’s like I belong here."

"You _do_ belong here."

"Says who?"

"Me."

Arthur sighed.

“You don’t have to do this,” Merlin said. Arthur shook his head. He knew Merlin was talking about the village.

“I will at some point, won’t I? Now that I’m back?” _What are you so intent on keeping from me?_

Merlin was silent. Arthur sighed again.

“I’ll be there with you,” Merlin said, his voice notched to that intense loyalty that only he could manage. “Always.”

Arthur nodded wordlessly. He didn't quite trust himself to speak.

—

“Oh my _God_ Arthur we don’t have time for this,” Aelia said.

“We don’t have to go on horseback, we could walk-“

“I am _not_ walking five miles there and back. It’s 2018, not some 5th century military campaign.”

Arthur cursed under his breath and glanced back at Merlin, who was trying and very much _failing_ to hide a smirk behind the collar of his jacket.

“It’s a _car,_ Arthur,” Aelia said. Her hands pushed her heavy brown jacket aside where they rested bossily on her hips. Her stance was far too Morgana-like for Arthur’s taste. “You’ll have to ride in one eventually. Merlin, back me up.”

 _Merlin don’t you_ dare-

“She’s right.”

Arthur was going to kill him. Preferably with Aelia’s little rainbow knife. Was this revenge for all the times Arthur had made him muck out the stables? Or the hunting trips he knew Merlin had despised? Or maybe-?

A warm touch between his shoulder blades halted Arthur’s train of thought.

“You’ll be fine,” Merlin murmured. “I’ll sit with you in the back if you like.”

Arthur swallowed, eyeing the dingy little pickup truck. He didn’t know much about cars, but this one had definitely seen better days. It had been dented in several places and was rusty in others. But Merlin said it was alright, and, well… despite everything, Arthur trusted Merlin.

“Fine,” he relented.

“Great!” Aelia said brightly. “I’ll drive.”

Merlin climbed in after Arthur, settling in the middle of the surprisingly cushy bench that made up the second row. Inside, it was far nicer than its exterior suggested- it was clean, for one, and warm, and the seats were covered in some kind of cotton fabric. Arthur studied them with interest as Merlin tried to show him how to do the strange belt up. Then Aelia did something with the keys and the whole thing began to rumble. He quelled the urge to grab for the nearest handle as the car peeled out of the driveway.

Part of Arthur was terribly curious about the whole process, the rest of him was focused on the queasy feeling in his stomach as they sped through the countryside, faster than any horse or carriage.

“Maybe we should’ve started you with a bicycle,” Merlin muttered, amusedly. Arthur had his teeth clenched too tightly to formulate a proper response.

Despite his teasing, Merlin’s shoulder pressed steadily against his as Aelia drove. Arthur knew, logically, that there was no reason for him to be sitting in middle seat in the back aside from a silent display of solidarity.

 _I’m here for you,_ said the warmth radiating off of Merlin, said the hand that patted Arthur’s arm when he jumped. And Arthur needed that. Moreover, he needed to have someone who understood that without his asking. He needed Merlin.

Huh.

He glanced back at Merlin, considering him as he laughed at something Aelia had said. His eyes shone in the muted light of the overcast sky, a familiarly impish grin firmly settled on his cheeks. This was the man who had spent 1500 years living by this lake, waiting for Arthur. Devoted. Loyal beyond measure.

This was the same man who lied as easy as breathing, who could do it any way he pleased, and then finish it off with a smile and an _'I'm worried about you.'_

What exactly was Arthur supposed to do with that?

“Okay?” Merlin caught him staring.

“Fine,” Arthur said with false cheer. “Good, even.”

“Don’t let Aelia hear you say that,” Merlin’s eyes flashed to the mirror in the front seat. “She might get it into her head that she’s a good driver.”

Aelia squawked indignantly, making to swat back at Merlin.

“Oi, eyes on the road!” He laughed, leaning into Arthur to dodge her. The same warmth from breakfast had returned to Arthur’s chest as he watched them play fight, directly at odds with the anxiety he'd felt only moments earlier. Then the car swerved dangerously and he was left clutching the door and Merlin as Aelia frantically apologized.

The shop, Arthur discovered, wasn’t too different from the busy markets of Camelot’s Lower Town- just brighter, and quieter, and more condensed. And there were _shopping carts,_ which were far lighter and noisier than the wooden carts they’d used in Arthur's time. Merlin let him push theirs along as they picked through the aisles. Aelia cheerily explained the marvels of snack food while piling numerous brightly colored boxes into the cart. Merlin removed all but one (“But Merlin, he has to try Jaffa cakes. They’re the only good snack this country makes-“ _“You take that back-”)._ They ended up at the register with a cart full of fruit, vegetables, and meat, along with a single box of Jaffa cakes. Arthur let Merlin deal with the merchant (“They’re called cashiers, Wart,” Aelia ever so delicately reminded him), surprised when he made no attempt to haggle the price down. In Camelot, everyone had haggled for everything- produce and livestock and _dowries_ when the situation called for it. To see Merlin smile and nod and pay what was asked of him was strange in ways Arthur couldn’t begin to describe.

Loading the groceries into the car took less time than Arthur expected, and as soon as Aelia replaced the cart with its mates in the - _car park-_ they were off again, this time into the winding, slow moving streets of the village. This reminded Arthur of the Lower Town as well. The village was a bit rundown, and clearly old, but it also had a familiar coziness to it. Arthur thought it was rather charming.

“Are you going to take him by the cafe?” Aelia said distractedly as she turned into a space between two more cars, then shifted the little stick between the seats. They stopped.

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Merlin said.

Her eyes darted suspiciously to the side as she said, “I was actually going to stop by the bookstore if that’s alright? There are a couple of things I saw last time I was there that I wanted to check out.”

“We can go after if you’d like,” Merlin frowned. He had again decided to sit in the middle of the bench. His body pressed a comforting line of warmth down Arthur’s side.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’ll text you when I’m done or you can text me when you are and we’ll meet up.”

She pulled the keys out. The car shut off.

“Alright,” he said. “Make sure you don’t lose the keys.”

“You take them,” she said, tossing them back. “Remember to lock the car.”

"It was one time," Merlin huffed.

Aelia laughed, and then she was off. Merlin watched as she made her way past a few brightly colored awnings, before turning into a doorway and disappearing.

“Let’s go,” Arthur said, undoing the strange belt.

"Wait," he felt something catch at his wrist. He turned back to find Merlin's long fingers wrapped around his forearm, his shrewd eyes unusually vulnerable. The look on his face was so familiar that Arthur could have drawn it from memory. It was what he had always worn just before Arthur rode into battle, or when he readied him for a tournament. It was concern, and something deeper. Something that spoke of sincere devotion. Something Arthur had never been able to fathom out.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked.

Arthur softened. _No,_ he thought, _but I need to know what's inside. I need to know what you're so afraid of me knowing._

“I’m sure,” he said.

Merlin nodded defeatedly. He must’ve expected that answer. Arthur looked at him a moment longer, then rearranged their limbs so that he was returning Merlin’s grip on his forearm. It was an old gesture, usually exchanged between fellow knights and kings. It was a sign of friendship, respect, and trust. _I trust you. Even though you've been lying to me I trust you. Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I wouldn't if you were anyone else. But you're not anyone else and so I trust you._ Merlin’s eyes widened minutely, almost as if he could hear what Arthur was thinking.

“Together then?” Arthur said. A lopsided smile spread across Merlin’s face. “Together,” he echoed.

They got out and made their way down the street towards the cafe. It was a lovely building- long and low, with rich red brick and and elegant mahogany door. A bell chimed as Arthur followed Merlin inside, silently bracing himself for what he might find.

The first thing he heard upon entering was a familiar laugh, heavy as cream down his throat and twice as sweet. Arthur glanced up- and froze.

Gwen stood behind the counter.

She looked just as she had in Camelot, except for that she was dressed in tight denim trousers and a purple t-shirt, and she was wearing a black apron over it all. Her brown eyes danced with mirth at something Elyan - Elyan! - must have said. Everything came flooding back the moment that he saw her- her reign, her marriage to Leon, their children. The years Arthur mourned her as he watched history unfold, grief tempering from a persistent ache into slow acceptance and then a fondness similar to that which he had for his father. It clashed with the new grief that Arthur felt as he looked at a Gwen who was not Queen of Camelot, who was not his wife or Leon’s, and yet was still _Gwen._ Arthur didn’t quite know what to make of that, or of the fact that though he felt a warm surge of affection for her, he found that the heady, in-love feeling conspicuously absent, taken by the centuries he’d watched history go by.

“Hello,” she said kindly. “What can I get for you.”

Merlin spoke, which was good, because if Arthur opened his mouth he would surely crumble to pieces right then and there, and Merlin would have to sweep him up and carry him home in one of those bottles he used to make his ships.

“Actually, I stopped by to introduce myself. I’m Meraud Emrys, I believe my uncle was-“

“Oh, God, yes, Meraud,” she wiped her hands off on her apron and bustled around the counter to better speak to him. Arthur’s breath hitched oddly in his throat. Merlin had known? And he hadn’t told Arthur?

_Is this what you've been hiding?_

“Wyltt and Aelia have told us so much about you. You’re taking over the cottage then?”

“Yes,” Merlin beamed as he shook her hand.

So Aelia had known too. Had Merlin told her to keep quiet as well? Is that why he never let her talk about the village?

“Your uncle was a great friend of ours. He was an absolute lifesaver when Dad moved last spring,” her gaze turned to Arthur. “And who might this be?”

“My-er- roommate, Arthur,” Merlin lied.

Arthur forced himself to shake Gwen’s hand as she frowned quizzically. “Roommate?”

“Yes,” Merlin said. “He - uh- he’s helping me with some- some research! Yes. He’s helping me with some research.”

“Oh!” Gwen said. She gave Arthur a conspiratorial grin. “Med school then?”

“No!” Merlin jumped in, “Arthur is, uh, a historian! Yes. Arthur’s a historian.”

“Ah,” She nodded. “You must be helping him with his novel. Aelia told me all about it.”

“Yes!” Merlin exclaimed, then, far more calmly, “Yes he is.”

“Alright,” Gwen said slowly, her gaze bouncing dubiously between them. “Well, it’s lovely to meet you both. My brother Eli is there behind the counter.”

Elyan grinned broadly, if a bit warily, and stuck a hand out to them. Merlin and Arthur took it in turn. Arthur marveled at the strange pattern of callouses on his palms- so different from the ones he’d had from handling a sword.

“Are you sure we can’t get you anything?” Gwen said again as she slid back behind the counter.

“Not today, tha-“

“Actually, some coffee would be excellent,” Arthur cut Merlin off, speaking for the first time since they’d entered the shop. Merlin froze.

“Great! Will that be for here or to go?”

“For here, please,” Arthur said, ignoring Merlin’s strangled gasp beside him and the fact that he didn’t really _know_ what ‘for here’ meant. He didn't really care either. He just needed to sit Merlin down and find out what the _hell_ was going on, and if he had to wait to get back to the cottage, he'd go mad.

“And what size?”

“Erm, what sizes are there?”

“Small,” Merlin found his voice. “Two small coffees. Cream and sugar in both please.”

“Alright,” Gwen said brightly. “That’ll be 5.85.”

Merlin handed her a few strangely colored notes before grabbing Arthur’s arm and dragging him towards one of the back tables. Gwen frowned as she watched them go.

“What the hell was that?” He demanded once they were settled.

"Don't you start with _me."_ Arthur's voice came out in a growl. He was practically vibrating in the little wooden chair. “Did you know?”

Merlin caught his eye and deflated immediately. “Arthur, I-“

_“Did. You. Know?”_

He gave Arthur a helpless look, then sighed and said, “Yes.”

Arthur could have collapsed in on himself then and there. So much for trust. It had been one thing when he hadn't known the secret, but now that he knew it was _Gwen,_ that Merlin had _hidden_ _his own wife from him-_

“I can’t believe this.”

“Arthur-"

“I trusted you-”

“Arthur please-"

“-and you’ve been keeping this from me this entire time?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you!” Merlin burst out.

“So you thought bringing me here was better?”

“I tried to stop it!”

“That doesn't help!”

"Well what was I supposed to say? 'Hey, Arthur, by the way, your wife who isn't really your wife runs the café down the street, want to stop in for a cuppa?'"

"Something like that," Arthur hissed.

"And what would you have said? What would you have _done-?"_

 _"I don't know!_ But gods _above,_ Merlin at least it would've been my choice. At least I would've known."

They were interrupted by Gwen calling to them from behind the counter. Merlin jumped up to retrieve their drinks, offering her a quick smile and a thanks, before hustling back to Arthur. He wordlessly accepted the proffered cup, refusing to meet Merlin’s gaze as he sat back down.

“Arthur,” Merlin said after a minute.

“Not now Merlin.”

“Please, if you would just listen-“

“What, so you can lie to me again?”

“Arthur I’m _sorry-"_

“Merlin, _please.”_

Maybe it was the 'please' that caught Merlin’s attention. Maybe it was the way Arthur’s voice broke on the word. Maybe it was both. Whatever it was, Merlin reared back and shut his mouth, leaving Arthur to his thoughts.

They stayed there for a good half hour while Arthur twisted and reshaped the situation in his head a thousand different ways. It always came down to the same three facts. Merlin had known Gwen and Elyan were here. Merlin had kept it from Arthur. And then Merlin had let Arthur walk into this café without so much as a warning, to where his dead wife and her brother worked.

Seeing them- seeing _her_ had done something to him. Arthur swallowed and closed his eyes. A slew of new memories had slotted into place, real in a way that they hadn’t been before- memories of Gwen, and Leon, and Camelot after his death. It was confusing. Usually with the library, images would flash before his eyes or a little voice would supply a word for him- it was distant, impersonal, but integrating itself more and more as time went on. These memories felt as though they were apart of him- his own life, his own experience.

He felt so old.

“Are you ready to go?” Merlin said quietly. His eyes were downcast, his lips pursed. He was every bit the remorseful servant, and a small, vindictive part of Arthur rejoiced at the sight. The rest of him quashed it down- he wasn't spiteful enough to find comfort in Merlin's distress. But Arthur was tired of being lied to by the one person he needed the most in this strange new world.

“Yes.” He replied. Merlin rose, taking his and Arthur’s cups to the counter. Arthur followed somberly at his heels.

Just then, the bell tinkled over the door. Merlin went completely still in front of him, his mouth dropping open, eyes fixed on a point just beyond Arthur’s shoulder.

“Merlin? What is it-?”

Arthur turned and-

Lancelot. Merlin was looking at Lancelot. Lancelot who’d been Arthur’s friend, Lancelot who Gwen had loved, Lancelot who _died,_ _Lancelot-_

Arthur glanced quickly back at Merlin to find his face white, shock knocking his eyebrows askew.

Lancelot moved forward, speaking quietly to Gwen for a moment. She giggled sweetly and Lancelot blushed as he held out a few notes. Then he made his way to a large table in the corner without so much as a glance in their direction and Arthur- Arthur couldn’t breathe.

“Let’s go,” Merlin said quietly, tugging at his sleeve. _“Arthur._ Let’s go.”

Yes, going was good. Going was excellent. They moved toward the door. Distantly, Arthur thought he heard Gwen call, “Nice to meet you!” It was hard to tell over the rush of blood in his ears.

He was distantly aware of Merlin hurriedly guiding him across the road to the car, typing in his mobile along the way.

“Aelia should meet us here soon. Come _on-“_

Arthur’s feet automatically followed as his mind swam with the faces of his friends, dressed in modern clothing, lounging about the café like it was the only world they'd ever known because it _was._  No warning- there’d been no warning at all and then there’d been Lancelot and it had been _too much_ and Arthur couldn't _breathe_ _-_

Aelia came rushing down the block, red-faced and confused. He was distantly aware of Merlin shoving they keys at her and telling her to _go, let’s go, I think he’s having a panic attack_ and God, what was that? It sounded awful. Then Arthur felt himself being shoved into the backseat, felt the car start to move, felt the countryside go by from afar. None of it truly registered. The only thing that felt real was the air as it rushed into his lungs, and Merlin’s hand clasped in his.

———

When Aelia had walked into the bookshop, she was surprised to find it seemingly empty. The counter was unmanned, the stacks were quiet, and there were no telltale sounds of munching or crunching to imply that its only employee was taking his lunch break. She double-checked the hours painted next to the door, struggling slightly to read them backwards. They were definitely open.

“Hello?” She called.

“Hello, sorry, be there in just one-“

The boy from the day before, Miles, popped his head over the railing of a previously unnoticed second floor.

“Oh! It’s you!” He said, not unkindly. His hair fell into his eyes as he leaned over the rail. “What are you doing back here?”

"Just wanted to see how you were doing," she said.

His face broke into a wide, shy sort of grin.

 _Adorable,_ Aelia thought, surprising herself.

“What are you doing up there?” She said. Miles’s grin turned some mix of sly and sheepish.

“Come on up and see if you’d like,” he said. “The stairs are in the back.”

Curious, Aelia followed a path to the very back of the shop, and found a rickety spiral staircase that took her up to the second floor. A thin rope was taped to the wall and the banister. It boasted a paper sign that said: NO CUSTOMERS BEYOND THIS POINT. Aelia ducked under it and climbed up to the second level.

This floor was only a third of the size of the first level, and seemed to be primarily used for additional storage. The shelves here were set up in rows, like a library, and were conspicuously empty. A dividing wall separated the shelves from the landing Miles had been on. Miles himself was spread out between the landing and the storage area, surrounded by enormous piles of books and a multitude of cardboard boxes.

“Whoa,” she said, letting out a low whistle as she looked around. It reminded her of the stacks in the basement insofar as sheer volume. As for its organization- that left something to be desired. Miles seemed to be trying to sort through the mess, with little luck.

“I know,” he said. “I don’t even know where to start.”

There was a spell for organizing books Aelia knew that would help them. It had been one of the first spells Merlin had taught her, after he found her asleep downstairs one too many times. But she couldn’t perform it with Miles there, so she settled for the next best thing.

“Well, how about making separate piles by genre, then organizing alphabetically by the last name of the author?”

“That’s what I thought too, but so many of these books don’t fit into just one genre,” Miles said.

“Classics?” Aelia said, picking up a battered copy of _Peter Pan_ from one of the nearby groups.

“That’s the classics pile,” he said. He sounded thoroughly disheartened. Aelia dropped the book.

“Ugghh, why is it so difficult to organize this? I mean, look at this one-” he reached into the box at his feet- “it’s called _Potions, Poultices, and Puddings._ Where does that go? Is it a medical journal? Is it a cookbook?”

Aelia plucked the proffered book from Miles’s hands and flipped it open to scan the first few pages.

“It’s a novel,” she said, and handed it back to him. Miles stared at the cover for a long moment, completely dead eyed, then proceeded to slam his it against his head and let out a strangled yell. Aelia's eyebrow quirked. “You okay?”

“No,” he said quietly. He tossed the book into another pile.

“Do you want some help?” Aelia offered. “Meraud should be at the cafe for a little while- I can stay here until he finishes introducing himself to everyone?”

Miles fixed her with a quizzical frown. “You don’t even know me,” he said.

Aelia shrugged. “Yeah, but you need a hand. Besides, I know how much pressure it can be to left in charge of something for the first time on your own.”

He frowned, torn between accepting her offer and what looked to be the seventh circle of bookkeeper hell. Finally he said, “okay.”

Miles showed her his piles, and they slowly began going through the unorganized books. There was a pile for plays, for cookbooks (“Yeah, you’d be surprised at how many of those we get.”), for literary classics, science fiction, fantasy, realistic fiction, and even one very tiny sub-pile for instruction manuals, which contained two heavily outdated refrigerator books (“Just throw them away." “My uncle will _kill me-")_ and an old D&D guide (“Can I, like, have this?” “In exchange for money, yes.” “Well _yeah-")._ They were able to make a fair dent in the unorganized boxes before the doorbell jingled. Miles peaked over the bannister, cursed, and called down, “Just a moment!”

Aelia watched through the railing as he scrambled to greet the newcomer. The man was old- almost as old as Merlin was when he aged himself. His hair was white and quite long, reaching past Aelia’s own to brush his shoulders. He walked slowly, but with a firm purpose, his neat brow perpetually raised in a skeptical pose as his sharp eyes glinted over the shop. He was portly in the way most old men were, but tall- he was almost at height with Miles when they stood next to each other.

“No rush,” he said to Miles. He had a crackly, shrewd sort of voice- good for scolding, Aelia could tell.

“Sorry about that,” Miles said. “Can I help you with anything?”

“I’m looking for _Rudolph’s Pediatrics._ One of my students borrowed mine and never returned it.”

Aelia frowned- the name sounded familiar. Had they already put it away? Or maybe it was still in the unorganized pile. She began sifting through the books as Miles stuttered below. “Let me check in the back for you-

Aelia looked to her left- and there it was, buried between a dissertation on family dynamics and an old children’s book.

“Got it!” she called, lifting the journal like a prize-fighter would a champion belt.

“Wonderful!” The man said as she descended to the first floor and handed it to him.

“Thank you young lady. Do you work here as well?”

Aelia let out an involuntary snort. “Oh, no. I just stopped by to help my… uh…" 

What exactly could she call Miles that wouldn't sound weird? Acquaintance? Stranger-she-felt-bad-for?

"...Friend.”

Miles gave her a reassuring smile as he led the man over to the register.

“Do you live here in the village?” The man asked

“No, actually, I'm a few miles east of here.”

“Hmm," the man nodded. "Lived there long?”

“About two years. I used to live with my uncle Wyltt, but-“

“Wait, sorry, just a moment,” he interrupted. “Did you say Wyltt? As in Wyltt Emrys?”

Aelia exchanged a surprised glance with Miles. “Um, yeah. Sorry, how did you-?”

“Your uncle has done some of the most astounding research on adolescent psychology that I’ve ever seen!” He exclaimed, then offered her a hand to shake. “I’m Dr. Ambrose. Pleased to meet you.”

“Aelia Thomas,” she accepted it.

“Any chance your uncle still lives here in the village Miss Thomas?” Dr. Ambrose said eagerly.

“He actually just retired to London.”

“Pity.” He frowned slightly. "Any chance I could-?"

“Excuse me sir.” Miles reclaimed his attention. “Your book is ready.”

“Ah, thank you.” Dr. Ambrose took the bag Miles offered him. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again,” he said to Aelia. And with that, he took his leave, the cheerful tinkle of the bell following him out the door.

“That was weird,” Miles said. Aelia nodded her agreement. “I didn’t know my uncle was so popular.”

Miles hummed as he pushed off of the counter and headed for the stairs. “Back to the stacks then?”

Aelia was about to follow when her phone chirped.

_Arthur in bad way. Got 2 take him home._

“Actually, I have to go.”

Miles caught her troubled look and frowned. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” she headed for the door. “Sorry to leave like this.”

“No problem,” he waved it off. “I’m, um, I’m glad you stopped in."

Aelia paused in the entrance to flash him a grin, then she was racing into the fading afternoon light.

———

As soon as they entered the cottage, Arthur began to pace.

He'd calmed down in the car with Merlin's hand on his chest, his thumb tapping into his palm as he told him to _breathe, Arthur, come on, you're doing fine._ Then he'd shaken Merlin's touch away like it was nothing, like _Merlin_ was nothing, and _no, please, this is_   _exactly what he'd been afraid of-_

“Arthur I’m sorry-"

“God I’m an idiot,” Arthur muttered. Merlin watched helplessly as he paced the length of the sitting room, raking his hands through his hair. “I’m an _idiot-"_

“You’re not an idiot."

That was the wrong thing to say, he realized when Arthur spun around, something raw and bitter lashing from his eyes as he shouted, “Yes, Merlin, I am! Because I _trusted_ you and you _lied_ to me! Again, might I add!”

Oh. So that's how Arthur wanted to play it? His jaw slid back, setting. Preparing for the fight.

“Aelia, would you leave us alone for a minute?”

She unfroze from where she’d been watching them with wide eyes and scurried off, probably to the basement or her bedroom. Either was fine- Merlin just didn’t want her seeing this. 

“That’s not fair,” he said as soon as she was out of earshot, his voice so low it was practically a growl. “You _know_ why I had to keep my magic a secret-“

Arthur threw his hands up, his hair flying in all directions- “Yes, I do! And maybe that wasn’t fair, but look around Merlin! This isn’t Camelot!”

“I _know-“_

“Then stop _lying_ to me!” He grabbed Merlin by the shoulders and shook once, hard, before relinquishing him as if he’d been burned. "Fucking _hell_ Merlin, I can’t- I don’t know what to do.” Arthur faltered, collapsing heavily on the sofa. Merlin dared not to reach out to him, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Arthur, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.“

“I need to be able to trust you,” he said into his clasped hands. “You’re the only one I have, I can’t- I _need_ to trust you.”

“You _can-“_

“How? How can I when you’re keeping secrets from me left and right? Or when you disappear into your study and don’t emerge for hours and never tell me what’s going on? Or when you don't tell me my _dead wife and two of my knights are here?"_

"I didn't know about Lancelot, I swear!"

Arthur slumped back. Merlin didn't know what to do to make this better. He'd fucked up. He knew that. But he could only apologize so many times.

“Let me prove it to you.”

“I don’t _want_ you to _prove_ it to me, _Mer_ lin, I just want you to tell me the truth!”

“Fine!” Merlin shouted. “You want the truth? The truth is that I spend every night trying to figure out why you’re back! And after weeks of searching down every rabbit hole I can find, I still haven’t got a clue! The truth is that I knew about Gwen and Elyan, and I didn’t tell you because- because I didn’t know how. Because they aren't who they were in Camelot, and I didn't know how you'd react, and I didn’t know what to say that would make any of it better so I just kept my mouth shut. I’m _sorry_ , Arthur. I never meant to hurt you.”

Arthur searched Merlin's eyes, and he tried to make sure he'd find nothing but sincerity and loyalty there, because God knows that he was loyal to Arthur. Loyal to the last breath and beyond.

“And your magic?”

Merlin straightened. “My magic?”

Arthur rose slowly, watching him- stone cold, kingly, not giving an inch.

“Why don’t you use your magic around me?”

Merlin reared back as if whipped. “That’s none of your business, Arthur-"

Arthur scoffed. “And there you go again keeping secrets-"

“This has nothing to do with you-"

“How am I supposed to _trust you-"_

“You can’t just demand personal-"

 _“You’re_ the one who’s been-"

“That’s not fair-"

“I don’t think-"

“Because I _can’t,_ alright?” Merlin finally shouted. Arthur pulled back abruptly, startled by his outburst. Merlin stopped, took a deep breath, and allowed himself a moment to implode. He suddenly felt ancient and heavy and fragile, every crack on display. Silence permeated the room, broken only by Arthur's harsh breath.

“What do you mean you can’t?” His voice was brittle. Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Do you remember,” he began quietly, “when you died?”

Merlin knew he did- he’d seen that memory, oddly blue and serene amongst the chaos of Arthur’s head when he’d first returned. Arthur nodded slowly.

“Do you remember the first few decades after? How I wasn’t there?”

“Merlin, what does that have to do with-“

“Just answer the question.”

Arthur sighed, then nodded again.

“That wasn’t an accident.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “Did you-“

“I didn’t know that you were watching, if that's what you're thinking.”

“Then why?”

Merlin took a moment to collect his thoughts. He chose his next words carefully.

“When magic was legalized, Gwen asked me to return to Camelot as Court Sorcerer. I refused.”

_“Why?”_

“Because,” Merlin’s voice broke involuntarily. He stopped; pulled himself back together with a shaky exhale. “Because I couldn’t save you, and I couldn’t return after that.”

There was a long silence as Arthur processed what he'd said. Then,  _“Merlin-"_

“Don’t you understand? I _failed,_ Arthur. The whole point of my magic- of _me-_ was to protect you and you-you _died,_ you _fucking died,_ and I _couldn’t,_ for years I couldn’t touch it. I hated it. And then… then it got easier. And then you came back and I…”

He couldn’t stand the horror- the _pity_ on Arthur’s face. Merlin couldn’t look at it. He turned away.

“Every time I look at you, I remember that,” he said. “So how can I use magic around you?”

There was a long silence. Merlin counted down his pulse as it passed, jaw clenched, a headache already drilling its way through his skull. God, he wanted to sleep. Was it too early to sleep? It didn't matter, he just wanted this godforsaken day to be _over-_

A heavy palm rested against his shoulder.

“Look at me,” Arthur commanded quietly, and when Merlin refused, he said, “ _Please.”_

Merlin turned slowly. He refused to meet Arthur’s gaze until warm hands curled under his jaw- not in force, but in askance. He chanced a peek. 

Arthur’s eyes were not full of anger, or fear, or hatred, like Merlin had expected. Instead they reflected trust, and fondness, and _pain,_ strangely enough.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said determinedly.

“But-"

“Shut up Merlin.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow but complied.

 _"It_ _wasn’t your fault._ ”

Merlin reached up to grip Arthur’s wrists. “You don’t know the whole story.”

“And one day, I’m sure you'll tell me,” Arthur countered easily. “But I'm telling _you,_ Merlin, it wasn't your fault. And even if it were-“

“Arthur-"

 _“Even. If. It. Were._ I forgive you.”

Merlin’s eyes slid shut. He sagged in Arthur’s hold. Those words lifted a weight off of Merlin he hadn't even known existed. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“But Merlin- no more lies, no more secrets, alright? I need to be able to trust what you say to me is true.”

“I give you my word.”

“Alright. I’m going to hug you now. And then you’re going to show me how to fry an egg and we’re going to eat whatever’s leftover from breakfast.”

Merlin let out a shout of surprised laughter before he was being pulled into a warm embrace. His head rested on Arthur’s shoulder with one of Arthur’s hands curled protectively around the back of his neck. Merlin clutched him tight around the middle, burying his face into the fabric of Arthur's shirt.

“I’m sorry about Gwen and Elyan,” he said. “I should have told you.”

He felt more than heard Arthur’s sigh. “I won’t lie, I'm still a bit angry about that.”

“That’s fair.”

“Mmm. But I also believe you when you say you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“Thank you.”

Arthur pulled back and cuffed Merlin gently around the head. “Of course,” he said. “Now let’s go see about that egg, yeah?”

As it turned out, Arthur was actually rather a good cook outside of chopping vegetables. His first couple of eggs were somewhat disastrous- either too hard or too runny- but his fourth and fifth tries were passable, and try number six was actually kind of perfect. Aelia came into the kitchen on try number five and sidled up to Merlin. He slipped an arm around her shoulders.

“I heard the yelling stop,” she muttered. “You two okay?”

“I think so.” Then Merlin felt the small, hopeful smile that brightened his face turn wicked as he remembered what Aelia had said about Arthur last week. “But we said no more secrets, so I have to tell him that you've been calling him- what was it? Oh yes- 'less-emo-Hamlet' behind his back.”

Aelia’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh but I would,” Merlin grinned mischievously. “Arthur-“

The cooking lesson was cut short when Aelia almost knocked Merlin into the hot stove, a hand clamped tightly over his mouth as he struggled. Arthur slapped them away with a spatula, demanding that they _sit down_ before they broke something, and then looked so completely horrified with himself that Merlin burst out laughing all over again

That night, after dinner was finished, there was a knock on Merlin’s study door. He didn’t bother to hide his research materials before he called out, “Come in.”

Arthur stood in the doorway with yet another Shakespeare play in hand. He let out a low whistle when he spotted the pile on Merlin’s desk.

“Guess I won’t be needing this.” He tossed the book onto his chair and shut the door behind him.

“What are you doing here?” Merlin said.

“Helping you, it would seem,” Arthur replied as he made his way to join him. “What are we reading?”

Merlin gave him a quizzical frown. “You really don’t need to do this.”

“Ah, but I want to,” Arthur said, taking a thick, dust-covered volume from the pile and wiping it off on his- or rather _Merlin's-_  shirt.

“Why?”

“Because you’re my friend," he said nonchalantly as he flipped the book open, "and you need some help. And because honestly I didn’t really care why I was back until you said something about it, and now I can’t think of anything else. So if you think about it, this is entirely your doing.”

Merlin grinned widely. “Is it?”

Arthur's lips twitched. “Undoubtedly.”

“Well then-” he shoved his research aside to make room for Arthur to sit- “let’s get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey kids, this is a call for help. I need a beta reader. As much as I love writing and editing this beast, I've been falling behind on updates, and each chapter keeps getting longer as I continue to write, so I need an extra set of eyes/hands to help me out. If you know somebody who could be interested or are game to do this yourself, please message me and let me know so we can discuss the details. Thanks guys! I really appreciate it!


	5. they're calling for your head and they're calling for your name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin braced his elbows at his knees and slowly wrung his hands. “And how long did she say she's been having them?”
> 
> “A few days. She said that the sleeping drought you gave her stopped working.”
> 
> Merlin’s hands picked up pace. Arthur had to bite back the temptation to reach out and still them between his own.
> 
> “That’s not good. That’s not good at all.”
> 
> "Merlin," Arthur said slowly. "I don’t want to assume anything, but doesn’t that sound like-"
> 
> “Morgana?” He supplied. Bitter anguish wrote itself into the upturn of his mouth. “Yes, I believe it does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame lev Grossman for my excessive use of dashes.

_The darkness covered her like a burial shroud as her deadened limbs scraped against the mold-slick edges of the pit. Her cell. Her home. She’d barely fit in when they first locked her away, but now-_

_There was someone trapped there with her. A woman. Her delicate voice, drifting through the musty air, was the only living comfort in this rotten place. Her cries pierced at Aelia’s very soul. Then there was the pain, the sharp ache of it like a sword chipping away at her very bones. The column of her spine had curled up into a permanent, crackling arch. She could not move. She could not speak. She could only cry out in an agonized wail as the eternal night wore on and on and on and-_

She shot awake, fingers scrabbling at her chest and throat as she tried to _breathe, c'mon, breathe-_

It took her a moment to realize she was in her room, in her cushy, comfortable bed, in their cushy, comfortable cottage. Not a pit. Not a cave. _Here._ She stretched, arching her back to remind herself that it was not in fact curling forward like a question mark, and hummed. That was a regular, human voice. She looked down at her fingers and counted, one, two three four... ten fingers total. She wasn’t dreaming. This was real. This was her life. She was _fine._

She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. That was the fourth nightmare she'd had that week, and the second one to wake her. She checked the clock. It was 5:30 in the morning. On a Sunday, good God. She should go back to sleep.

Aelia did not go back to sleep. Instead she found a pair of gym shorts, a clean t-shirt, and a heavy blanket, intent to migrate out to the living room sofa and watch whatever cartoons were on. To her surprise and chagrin, someone had beaten her to the punch- two someones, actually. Merlin and Arthur were curled up together on the floor when she got there. Aelia rolled her eyes. This wasn’t the first time she’d found them asleep in front of the TV, but it _was_ the first time she'd seen them so cozy. Usually they'd be sprawled out on opposite ends of the couch, Merlin’s socked feet a hairsbreadth away from Arthur’s face.

A less exhausted Aelia might have found the scene cute. After all, Merlin was using Arthur’s shoulder as a pillow, while Arthur had claimed half of Merlin’s torso as a blanket, and both of them had tiny, drowsy smiles on their faces. It was downright idyllic. But she was too tired for idyllicness. Idyllicity. Whatever.

She nudged Merlin with her foot. “Wake up.”

He grumbled incoherently. “Five more minutes.”

“Get _up.”_ She nudged him again, harder. “I want to watch TV.”

He finally came to with a lazy smack of his lips. Then he realized the position he was in, and who he was in it with, and he sprung back from Arthur like he was burning.

“Hmm?”

Which apparently caused Arthur to wake up.

"Merlin?" He yawned. "What-?"

“We fell asleep,” Merlin whispered from where he'd scrambled out from under the blanket, careful to avoid touching Arthur. Arthur, meanwhile, was giving him a sleepy, fond grin, causing Merlin to blush to his roots, and Aelia to want to smack her head against a wall.

They had been like this for the past week, since their big argument. The first day thereafter, things had been somewhat awkward between them, something Aelia now remembered with doleful yearning. Neither of them had known how to act around each other. Then Merlin had broken the tension by doing a spell, something stupid and simple right in front of Arthur. And Arthur had stood stock still and frozen, eyes boring holes into the side of Merlin’s head, his mouth open in a perfect _o._ It was more than shock- it was awe. From then on they’d been like this- Arthur curious and Merlin compliant and both of them strangely touchier than usual. They still bickered, but there was now a layer of fondness to it. A familiarity. Living with them was a unique sort of hell, like being the roommate of a married couple. And not in the fun, Friends way either.

“Come one prat, up you get,” Merlin dragged Arthur off the floor. Aelia sighed- finally. She collapsed onto the couch and buried her face in a throw pillow, pointedly ignoring how Arthur leaned into Merlin as they walked. No. Not in the fun Friends way at all.

-

As it turned out, moving to the couch did little to help. Aelia had fallen asleep in the middle of a _Heroes_ rerun- no cartoons this morning it would seem. A few hours later, she woke with a broken cry, startling Arthur, who had been eating a bowl of cereal at her feet.

“You alright?” He said.

“Fine,” she replied. She resisted the urge to clutch at her side, where the phantom pain lived. Arthur gave her a skeptical look, but returned to the telly.

In the past week he’d come much further in his understanding of pop culture. He’d graduated from Shakespeare to John Milton, Jonathan Swift- or as Aelia referred to them, the John’s- and the writings of Wu Cheng’en. Aelia tried to read along with him between schoolwork and practicing her magic- or rather, perfecting it on her own since recently Merlin had been conspicuously absent from their lessons. They had agreed that Wu Cheng’en’s works were far more interesting, but that they still appreciated Milton's lyricism. Merlin contributed to his studies by renting a couple of videos from the library- all live productions of the plays they’d covered. Arthur was in the middle of watching _Othello,_ the battered copy of _Gulliver’s Travels_ that Aelia had gotten him firmly shut beside him.

“You sure?”

She nodded, glancing around.

“Where’s Merlin?”

“In his study,” Arthur said through a mouthful of cereal.

“Research?”

Arthur grunted in confirmation.

“How’s that going?”

This time, Arthur swallowed before he spoke. “He’s driving himself completely mad.”

Aelia nodded and sighed. “I don’t know why he won’t let me help. No offense, but I know the library a bit better than you do.”

He shrugged. “None taken. He probably doesn’t want you to overdo it, what with your classes and all.”

She hummed noncommittally in lieu of a reply. Since Arthur had returned, Aelia hadn’t been allowed so much as touch anything magical. Merlin barely even made her practice. Before, she’d hated how his weekly assignments ate up her time with Rose, and how the poultices he demanded her help in making lent a semi-permanent funk to her clothing. Now, she’d give anything to have a stupid little spell to focus on during a boring lecture, or a rancid sweater to don as she rushed out the door. She’d already exhausted what books the library allowed her access to, and had drilled her existing arsenal of spells to near perfection. She was almost bored.

“Well since you’re awake, why don’t we train a bit?”

Or she would have been, if Arthur hadn't replaced her magical tutoring with something that had proved to be far more physically taxing- teaching her to fight.

Any other morning he might have been met with protest, but after that dream… Aelia needed to remember that her body could move, that her spine was not curled like one of Merlin’s fancy spiral vases, that she was free. She nodded. “Let me get something to eat first. I’ll meet you outside when I’m ready.”

Half an hour later Aelia sat crosslegged on the back porch, wearing a pair of athletic leggings and a long sleeved shirt, while Arthur searched through an old chest of armor.

Aelia liked their backyard- it was a large, flat expanse of land, sloping off in the distance toward the shore of the lake. The only decoration aside from Merlin’s rows of herbs was the tiny vegetable garden they had planted last spring, which grew under Aelia’s window. The pumpkins were coming in nicely- she could only assume that the spells she’d been practicing on them were working.

The first time they’d trained, Merlin had dragged a collection of well-kept chests from some hidden corner of his study. Inside were weapons, targets, armor- practically an entire arsenal he'd accumulated over the centuries. He’d kept an extra set of Arthur’s mail as well, which was somehow still shining after spending years untouched.

“Preservation spell,” Merlin had muttered as he taught her how to hook the plates together on Arthur.

Arthur’s first set was somewhere at the bottom of the lake. As for his sword…

In the commotion of Arthur’s return, they’d missed the fact that Excalibur hadn’t returned with him. They tried not to talk about it. It was a touchy subject for everyone involved.

Arthur had gotten the practice swords, a few knives, and the mail out today. It was the first time Aelia would be wearing it. So far, he'd tested her skill with knives, taught her the basics of archery, and given her a beginner's conditioning routine- none of which had required armor. It seemed that today they would be adding swordsmanship to the steadily growing rotation.

She tied her short curls into a tiny bun at the nape of her neck as Arthur went through Merlin’s colorful assortment of gambesons. He kept holding them up to her shoulders to compare size, frowning to himself, and then tossing the offending garment back into the chest that it had come from.

“Why are you so tiny?” He said irritatably.

“I’m average height!”

“Yet you’re smaller than most swordsman.”

Arthur opened a second chest and sighed in relief, pulling out a short black gambeson and holding it up to her.

“Finally,” he said. “Put this on. God, finding mail for you is going to be a nightmare, isn’t it?”

It was. Arthur was a moment away from breaking something when Merlin appeared at the backdoor, barefoot and holding a mug.

“The small ones are at the bottom!” He called.

“Thank you!”

Arthur then proceeded to upturn the chest and shake its' contents out until he found what he was looking for. He repeated the same process with the rest of the armor. Every time he found a correctly-sized piece, he’d hand it to Merlin, who’d joined them in the the morning chill to help Aelia put everything on. By the time she was ready, short sword in her hand, their lawn looked like a macabre history museum, or maybe a cosplayers dream. Merlin sighed and cleaned it up with a wave of his hand.

“Thank you,” Arthur said to him. Merlin shuffled awkwardly. Or maybe shyly? It was hard to tell.

“Not at all," he said. "Thanks for the tea.”

Arthur glowed with pride. Aelia whipped around to face him.

 _“You_ made _tea?”_

Merlin laughed as Arthur squawked indignantly. He pressed a quick kiss to Aelia’s forehead, said, “I’ll be inside if you need me,” and made a hasty retreat, leaving her and Arthur alone.

“Right,” Arthur said, his face still flushed. “Today we’re going to start with sword drills…”

Aelia watched as Arthur executed a short series of movements. He had her copy each one individually, adjusting her stance as she went, then all of them together. It didn’t take long for her to start sweating- partly from the heat but partly from the strain of holding herself and an extra 30 pounds of armor up as she made her way through the drills. It felt as if the weight on her shoulders was driving her into the earth, like a hammer striking at a spike. This wasn’t freeing. Every time she finished the drill, Arthur would say, “Again,” and she’d do it. Tendrils of hair that had escaped from her bun stuck to her forehead beneath the coif. She kept going, lifting her sword, loosening her knees, and straightening her back at Arthur’s instruction. All of it reminded her of dream, of the way her spine had curved like a question mark, of the pain, of the darkness, of her own desperate cries-

“Aelia!”

Arthur was calling her name.

“You’re not focused” he said.

“Sorry,” she replied. He frowned uneasily. “It’s alright. Let’s try again-“

“No!”

She hadn’t meant to say that, it just slipped out. Arthur’s frown melted into concern. “What is it?”

“Sorry,” she said, backtracking hurriedly. “I didn’t- yeah, let’s go again.”

“Aelia-“

She raised her sword, arms shaking. “Let’s go again.”

“Aelia, stop.”

Arthur took the sword away and tossed it down next to them on the grass, then led her to sit at the back porch.

“What is it?” He asked when she was settled. He stayed standing, his crossed arms granting him an authoritarian demeanor.

She sighed, bowing almost unintentionally forward and bracing herself against her knees. “It’s the armor.”

_It reminds me of the cell, of being pushed into a circle, of not being able to talk-_

“It’s too heavy.”

Arthur studied her, inscrutable. “Is that all it is?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Yes.”

“Are you sure this doesn’t have something to do with the fact that you haven’t been sleeping lately?”

She heaved a sigh. She hadn’t exactly been subtle about it, but she also hadn’t expected Arthur to confront her so pointedly.

“You know could ask Merlin for a sleeping drought,” he suggested.

“No, I have one,” she admitted. “It just hasn’t been working.”

He frowned. There was a moment’s silence, during which she could feel Arthur deliberating what to say or do next. Finally, he moved to sit beside her on the porch. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She considered it. Though Arthur was kind of shit when it came to talking about emotions, she’d discovered that he was great at handling problems with actual, tangible solutions- like when she’d lost her lecture notes and he’d helped her rewrite them, or when he forced Merlin out of his study to make sure that he ate. Maybe this whole dreaming business was one of _those_ problems.

“Only if I can take this off first,” she bargained.

Once she’d been divested of her plates and mail, she sat back on the stoop. “So I’ve been having these weird dreams.”

“What are they about?” Arthur said patiently.

She closed her eyes.

_A cold pit. A clear voice. A pale hand beckoning her forward. The only sound she can make is a frail screech, like a wounded bird._

“Sometimes I dream that I’ve been locked up somewhere. It's small, and dark, and I can’t move. I can’t speak. I’m like- like an animal. Sometimes-“

_She’s free, but still underground. Torchlight bounces long shadows onto the rocks as she roams through the tunnels. She wants to stretch, to fly- but she can’t. And she still can’t speak._

“Sometimes I’m in a cave. Sometimes-“

_A battlefield is spread out below her. Soo she will be free- to stretch out, to feel the wind. But not tonight. Tonight she fights. She careens wildly, narrowly avoiding a blast of lightning that singes her ribs, and screeches into the night- her voice failing her again._

“-I’m flying over this battle... But I can never talk. And I’m always in pain.”

_Her back is crippled no matter where she is, no matter the healing words spoken by that clear, gentle voice from the pit._

Aelia looked up to find Arthur staring intently at her, wan and wide-eyed.

“Arthur?”

“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry. Have you talked to Merlin about this by any chance?”

She shook her head. “No. But please, don’t tell him. He doesn't need anything else to worry about right now.”

Arthur sighed. “Aelia-"

“Please? For me?”

She chewed at her lip as she watched him deliberate- saw the moment he broke down, how his expression changed to reluctant determination. “Fine,” he said. “But if they get worse-”

“I’ll talk to him.” Aelia smiled in grateful relief. “Thank you, Arthur.”

———

The second time Merlin woke, he was slumped forward in his chair, and his cheek was stuck to a page of his book.

After he had put Arthur to bed and ensured Aelia was asleep on the sofa, he’d gone to work. Exhaustion, that fickle thing, had caught up with him halfway through _The Prophecies of Annabel Conley._ Luckily, his spit hadn’t smudged any of her fine pen lettering. Merlin was just about the rub his eyes and continue reading, when he caught sight of a steaming mug of tea, resting at the center of the table with a note taped to its' side.

_Remember to eat._

If he were just going off of the message, Merlin would have guessed that it had been Aelia who left it there, but that wasn't Aelia's painfully messy chicken scratch. No. He’d recognize Arthur’s forcibly elegant hand anywhere. He took a small sip- it had gone somewhat cold, and the bags had been left in, but it filled Merlin with a warmth that had less to do with the tea and more to do with who had made it. Feeling energized, he rose, stretched, and padded out of the study, grinning faintly all the way.

The grin didn’t fade until he’d gone back into the kitchen after helping Arthur and Aelia. He was delighted to see them get along so well, even if what they were bonding over was how best to kill a man with their bare hands.

Having Arthur back had become sort of wonderful in the last week. They’d galvanized some of the daily rituals they’d had in Camelot- Merlin bringing Arthur his breakfast had become them eating together; preparing Arthur for bed had become watching telly in the sitting room; doing Arthur’s chores had become washing the dishes together, side by side, in companionable silence. The strangest part was how not-strange it all was. With the air between them cleared, Arthur had integrated himself wholly into Merlin’s life, like a limb that had been regrown.

Merlin peaked down. The sight of the tea that Arthur, of all people, had made him sent a little thrill down his spine. It was so kind of him, and it probably never would have happened in Camelot unless Merlin were deathly ill, and he'd been so proud of it, it was strangely charming, and-

_Oh._

Oh no.

Merlin was distantly aware of the mug crashing to the floor, spilling lukewarm tea everywhere as he stared blankly outside, watching as Arthur put Aelia through the same sword drills he’d once used to train his young knights.

How, how, _how_ had he not seen it sooner?

Something Aelia had asked him a couple of years ago tugged at his mind. They’d been in the study, Merlin reading while Aelia revised at the desk. She’d been dating Tilly for about two months then.

“Merlin?” She’d asked suddenly. “How do you know that you’re in love?”

Merlin’s head had shot up in surprise. “I'm sorry?”

She'd been shakily firm as she pressed on. “How do you know that you’re in love?”

He’d cleared his throat and crossed his legs- then changed his mind and recrossed them the opposite way. “Don’t you think you’d better ask your mum about that?”

Aelia had rolled her eyes. “I tried, but when I mentioned it she launched into a whole tangent about birth control and safe sex and- it’s not funny!”

“No, sorry,” Merlin had stifled a laugh between the pages of his book, imagining Kaeis wagging an unseen finger at her daughter over the phone. “You’re right. Not funny at all.”

She’d treated him to a short glare. “But seriously,” she urged. “How do you know?”

Merlin had thought carefully before he spoke.

“I suppose… I suppose you don’t." He'd finally said. "It’s not- it’s not always one exact spot in a relationship, or even a friendship, where you go from having feelings for someone to loving them. But- I think there is a moment. Just one moment where you look at them, and you suddenly think, oh. It’s you. Of course it’s you. Because how could it be anybody else?”

Aelia had scrutinized him, a complicated look on her face. “Have you ever had that?” She’d asked, hesitant for the first time since bringing it up.

 _Yes,_ Merlin had wanted to say. Instead he’d shrugged. “Maybe,” he’d said. “I don't remember. Not in a long time.”

Only the latter part was true. Merlin remembered. He remembered _everything,_ and that particular moment down to the second.

—

_Merlin couldn’t relax. Morgana’s short reign had been the most harrowing week of their lives- yet even now that it was over he found himself constantly braced for an attack. He kept smoothing Arthur’s bedclothes, kept checking his wardrobe for mites, kept scrubbing and rescrubbing the floors until finally, Arthur stopped him._

_“Merlin,” he said, “though I appreciate that this is the cleanest my chamber has ever been since you became my servant, you need to calm down.”_

_“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Merlin muttered as he stroked the fire repeatedly. The flames weren’t high enough- why were they never high enough?_

_Arthur heaved a great sigh, and the next thing Merlin knew, he was being spun away from the hearth and bundled into one of Arthur’s great chairs. When he made to stand, a heavy set of hands held him firmly in place._

_“Merlin,” Arthur intoned, “rest.”_

_Merlin looked up and found Arthur- his eyes soft and determined, still shadowed by dark circles, his chapped lips slightly parted, his hair a grimy golden halo around his head as the warmth of his hands sank into Merlin’s collar and Merlin couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was, how regal, how-_ oh.

Of course.

Hello there.

I love you.

—

It had been stupid- it had been _so_ stupid. But the more Merlin had thought about it, the more he had known it to be true. And now…

His feelings were meant change- and Merlin was convinced that they _had._ He’d wanted it so badly he’d tricked himself into believing it was true, that the years of waiting by the lake had morphed his sharp longing into an intense but platonic fondness. But then Arthur returned and Merlin… Merlin couldn’t fool himself any longer. One stupid little cup of tea was all it took to level the walls he had so carefully constructed in his mind, and now that they were gone, the truth couldn’t be ignored.

He’d been in love with Arthur for centuries.

His head slammed desolately into the counter.

_Fuck._

———

Showers, Arthur had decided, were a marvel. He took them whenever he could. Merlin had disappeared by the time they had lugged their equipment back into the garage, leaving him free to stand under the faucet until his skin turned red and his fingers began to wrinkle like sun-drenched raisins- much longer than it usually took for Merlin to shout at him for wasting the hot water. When he was finished he made his way to Merlin’s study, a damp towel slung around his neck. He stepped through the door, and was greeted by a resounding crash.

“Merlin?” He called, rushing towards the source of the noise. A soft groan waded up through the dusty air, and there, by the potion bench, lay Merlin: his hair mussed, his limbs akimbo, somehow both covered and cushioned by a pile of dusty books. Arthur couldn’t help the fond grin that twitched at his lips at the sight of him. “What are you doing down there you idiot?”

He dragged him up by the collar, surreptitiously wiping at the thick layer of dust that coated his shoulders.

“God, I can’t take my eyes off of you for a second, can I? You’re like a child.”

“Gerroff,” he slapped half-heartedly at Arthur as he began to wipe even more dirt- dear Lord- from Merlin’s face.

“Just hold still you clod,” Arthur yanked him closer as he worked at a particularly stubborn spot just below his left eye. He couldn't help but notice that Merlin’s skin was stupidly smooth, despite the fact that Aelia said he never exfoliated. Arthur hadn’t a clue what that meant, but she assured him that it was very important. Merlin tensed almost imperceptibly beneath his ministrations, his eyes round and staring.

“What?” Arthur said.

“Nothing,” he muttered. Arthur frowned as Merlin’s gaze darted toward the floor. He seemed oddly sullen. Maybe it was the tea? Or that Arthur had caught him being clumsy? No, he’d never been like this all the other times-

“Are you done?” Merlin asked.

He startled, realizing that he’d been studying Merlin for a minute too long, his palm simply resting against his cheek instead of brushing at the dust. He snatched it away, ignoring the flicker of something - was it disappointment?- that crossed over Merlin’s face.

“Was there something you needed?” Merlin said, oddly aloof.

“Yes, sorry, I…” Arthur trailed off- Merlin was looking at him now, and his brain had chosen that particular moment to register that his eyes were blue. Not blue like the sky, or the walls in his bedroom, but blue like the color of sea at twilight, with a hint of green and grey about them. It felt like a strangely intimate thing to notice.

“Arthur?” Merlin said.

“Aelia!” He blurted before he could stop it. Merlin raised a quizzical brow as he stammered. “She told me- well she told me not to tell you, but I thought you should know, seeing as she’s your ward- is she your ward, actually? You never made that clear-"

“Arthur!” Merlin silenced him. “What about Aelia?”

Arthur swept it away. “She said she’s been having odd dreams.”

“Why did you need to tell me that?”

“Because what she dreamt sounds oddly familiar.”

Merlin stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment before realization dawned on him. “Come here,” he said. They abandoned the dusty pile of books in favor of their overstuffed chairs by the fire.

“What exactly did she say?”

Arthur sighed. “She told me that she dreamt that she’d been locked up somewhere. She said that it was dark, and she couldn’t move. Then another time she was in a cave. And another time she was in a battle of some sort.”

Merlin braced his elbows at his knees and slowly wrung his hands. “And how long did she say she's been having them?”

“A few days. She said that the sleeping drought you gave her stopped working.”

Merlin’s hands picked up pace. Arthur had to bite back the temptation to reach out and still them between his own.

“That’s not good. That’s not good at all.”

"Merlin," Arthur said slowly. "I don’t want to assume anything, but doesn’t that sound like-"

“Morgana?” He supplied. Bitter anguish wrote itself into the upturn of his mouth. “Yes, I believe it does.”

Merlin sighed. His leg began to bounce, joining the anxious dance of his fingers. Arthur exhaled shakily. “You can’t believe-”

“I don’t want to, but I can’t help it-”

Arthur shook his head. “But she doesn’t _look_ like her. Everyone else-”

“She doesn’t have to," Merlin miserably replied. "The body isn’t what matters, Arthur, it’s the soul. And Aelia’s…” He stared off into some distant memory. “When I first met her, I saw it. Her soul is as old as yours or mine- maybe even older.”

“And you think it’s because she’s Morgana?” Arthur said.

“I can’t be sure. But yes. Yes, I believe that she is.”

A whispering near the door, like something of a quiet gasp, pricked at Arthur's ears. He turned around to see what had made it- but there was nothing to be found.

Merlin continued, seemingly unperturbed. “If she is Morgana, we'll have to take precautions.”

Arthur swiveled back to face him. “Such as?”

Merlin shifted awkwardly in his seat, gaze straying to the wooden floor. He seemed reluctant to voice his thoughts.

“Maybe you two should stop training together.”

“No.” Arthur objected immediately.

Merlin sighed. “Arthur, it might be best-”

“No. Even if what you’re saying is true, even if she _is_ Morgana's- reincarnation, or whatever you're thinking, she’s still Aelia. Our Aelia, _your_ Aelia. She wouldn't hurt me. Or you, for the matter.”

Merlin hesitated for a moment, then slumped back in his chair, raking a desolate hand down his face. “You’re right,” he mumbled. “Of course you’re right,”

Arthur sighed. Leaning forward, he rested a palm on Merlin’s knee and, leveling his voice, said, “All we have right now is speculation. We can't act until we understand what's happening to her. Anything else might drive her further away.”

Merlin peaked balefully at Arthur from between his knuckles. “Like we did last time?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. What a hopeless pessimist his manservant had become in his absence. He slid out of his chair and knelt before him, reaching out to wrestle Merlin’s hands away from his face and hold them between his own.

 _“No,”_ he said firmly. “Not like last time at all. Last time, you did this on your own. Now, you have me.”

Merlin only stared at him, stricken. His gaze kept flitting between Arthur’s eyes and their joined hands. Arthur ignored it and held fast, waiting for him to inevitably agree.

“Okay,” he finally did. Arthur released him. “Excellent,” he said. “Now, what do you say we put this fire out, and you go sleep in your room like an actual person?”

Merlin wrinkled his nose- a universal, albeit childish, gesture of _I don’t want to._

“Merlin,” Arthur intoned. He cocked his chin and raised his eyebrows, an equally universal gesture of, _you know I’m right idiot, so just do as I say._

Merlin huffed dramatically. “Fine.” Arthur chuckled at his sullenness as he pulled him up. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you into your ridiculously comfortable bed. Better than the floor, wouldn’t you say?”

He ignored how Merlin stiffened slightly beside him- what was _wrong_ with him today? He must’ve been even more exhausted than Arthur had thought- in favor of tugging him out of the study, down the hall, and shoving him unceremoniously into his bedroom.

“Not another word, and no books or I’ll tell Aelia you gave her free reign over the car for the afternoon.”

“You wouldn’t,” Merlin said, horrified.

Arthur smirked. “Oh, but I would. Sweet dreams.”

And with that he closed the door on Merlin’s open mouth.

———

Aelia was jolted from her solemnity by the tone of her phone playing a cheerful mambo. She reluctantly picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Aelia!”

It was Arthur. Of course.

“Where the hell are you?”

She sighed and slumped forward, knocking her head against the steering wheel. She was parked outside of the Dragon’s Hoard, and poor Miles had been beckoning her in through the window for a while now. She held up an apologetic finger- _one minute._

“I just ran into town to get a few things,” she lied. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. Just tell us when you’re going out.”

Aelia fought the urge to roll her eyes- Arthur could be such a mother hen sometimes. It was sort of hilarious, until it was directed at her. “Sorry,” she said. “I forgot.”

That part wasn’t a lie. In her hastiness to leave the cottage she hadn’t quite thought to tell anyone where she was actually going.

“What time will you be back?”

“A couple of hours?” She guessed. “I’ll call you when I leave.”

“Alright." There was a puff of static- he must've sighed into the receiver. “If you’d like, we can talk more about what you told me this morning? About the dreams.”

“Sure,” she replied listlessly. She had little intention of following through with that.

“Alright. I’ll see you when you get home.”

“See you.”

He hung up.

Aelia gathered herself and headed into the shop, her ears ringing with unvoiced thoughts. The cheery tinkle of the bell as she stepped inside did little to ease her mood. The boy standing behind the counter, on the other hand, just might.

“How’s my favorite customer?” Miles grinned broadly. Aelia managed a weak smile in return, before giving up and draping herself across the table instead.

“So, bad, then.” Miles patted her hair as she nodded miserably.

Over the past week, she’d visited the shop about three times when it had been boring around the house, and once when Rose couldn’t hang out. It had been nice- Miles was surprisingly funny once he came out of his shell. They’d become fast friends, helped by the convenience of their proximity, and Aelia needed a friend right now, especially after what she'd overheard.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Miles said patiently.

She sighed. Having non-magical people in her life was difficult sometimes. She could never let them know the full extent of her problems- never truly let them in, no matter how badly she might have wanted to. She wanted to now, seeing as her magical- or at least magically aware- friends were the source of her current predicament, and so she couldn't talk to _them_ about it without admitting what she’d overheard, which was a whole new can of worms that she felt absolutely _no_ need to be in close proximity with, much less open. And so she was stuck, dithering in a complicated rut of half-truths and bullshitting and secret-keeping from everyone except herself. Damnit. Maybe she should just become a hermit, like Merlin had.

Merlin. Merlin, who thought she was Morgana.

She smacked her head lightly against the counter. This sucked.

“Tell you what,” Miles said, his fingers still moving comfortingly through her hair. “I’ll close up a few minutes early, and then we can go upstairs, and I’ll make you some tea, and you can look through all the old occult books we get that Uncle Killian doesn’t like people seeing. Sound good?”

Aelia’s eyes lit up, hidden by her hair. Miles had told her about those books the third time she’d come by, and it hadn’t been a secret between them that she’d been dying to get her hands on them ever since. She propped her chin up on the counter and looked him in the eye. “You’re an angel,” she said solemnly. He snorted, shoving her amiably off of the counter.

“Go on,” he said. “I’m right behind you.”

Aelia did as she was told, waiting patiently for him beside the locked cart of old, dark-colored tomes that only Killian Dreyfus and his nephew had the key to. He returned momentarily, holding a steaming mug and a dirty old keyring.

“I still don’t get why you’re so interested in them,” he said. He handed her the tea and undid the lock. “They’re mostly rubbish.”

Aelia wasn’t about to tell him that it was because these were real, actual magic books that his uncle had somehow acquired- mostly because he'd call her crazy and then kick her to the curb without tea. Instead she just said, “Yeah, but they’re cool rubbish.”

She took the closest one she could reach- its' cover had once been midnight blue but had since faded- and sat down in the little alcove created by the stacks to read.

The second floor of the Dragon’s Hoard housed three things. The first was Miles’s uncle Killian’s private collection- one of whose items was nestled safely in Aelia’s hands. The second was overflow for the shop- the shelves up there were lined spare copies of books that Miles had spent two days meticulously organizing, with the her occasional assistance. The last was Killian and Miles’s apartment, which was through a little door at the top of the stairs in the back of the loft. Aelia hadn’t realized that they lived above the shop until she'd tried the door while looking for a closet, and instead found their homey little kitchen.

On her last visit, they’d set up a little nook in the alcove, complete with bean bag chairs and string lights. The cart stood coldly across from them, a direct contrast to the coziness of their space.

“Does your uncle know you’re letting me read these?” Aelia asked as Miles settled in with a book of his own.

“No,” he replied smoothly. “But he knows I like to take them out sometimes. And besides, it’s not like you’re going to buy one. It should be alright.”

His was the reasoning of someone trying to justify something that would most definitely _not_ be alright, but Aelia wasn’t about to complain. She perused the collection for the better part of an hour before she finally got caught up on a volume that detailed how magic and memory cooperated with each other. It contained spells to erase one's memory, to bring it back, and to recall memories that someone hadn't lived- essentially, to see into the future or into past lives. Aelia was pretty certain that Merlin had the same book back at home, but there, it was locked away with the rest of his private collection. And the only way to get into _that_ was with his codex, and, well... Aelia didn't know where Merlin kept that. And even if she did, it wasn’t like she’d be able to touch it, much less read it. The library's magic ran deep, and it was as stubborn as Merlin's door when it came to protecting his secrets. She was halfway through a passage about what kinds of herbs one would need to be treated with to stimulate memory, when her eye caught on a heading below. _Dreams and Visions._

_Dreams art visions of the past. If 't be true one can dream, than they hath't did live. If 't be true one dreams something they cannot recall, than 't may hath't did happen to those folk in another life._

_Lovely,_ she thought as she slumped listlessly against her beanbag. Exactly what she needed- more evidence that she was Morgana, just staring her in the face.

“Aelia?” Miles said. “What is it?”

She sighed. There was that complicated rut again. It wasn’t fair- she _wanted_ to tell him. But how to do it without mentioning that, oh yeah, her legal guardian was the ancient wizard Merlin, and her other roommate was the legendary King Arthur?

“Have you ever…” she began uncertainly, then trailed off. No, that wasn’t a good place to start. Try again.

“Do you believe in past lives?”

That was only slightly better.

There was a soft thump of a book being closed, and then the squeak of the beanbag as Miles leaned back.

“I suppose,” he said slowly. “I mean, sometimes I have dreams where I think I’m someone else.”

“Who?” Aelia asked.

“A knight,” he mused. Aelia didn’t need to see him to know he wasn’t smiling as he said it.

“A knight sounds cool,” she offered.

“Not this one," he muttered darkly. “Why do you ask anyway?”

She shifted uncomfortably on her beanbag. Moment of truth. Moment of lies. But she had to tell someone something or she'd explode.

“I think… I think I was someone bad.”

She could practically hear Miles’s frown. “How do you mean?’

“I think I killed people,” she confessed in a whisper. He shot up at that. “What?”

Aelia took a steadying breath, willing herself not to tear up. God, this was so strangely difficult. “I think that, in a past life, I killed people. A lot of people. A lot of innocent people. And I know that sounds stupid, and it shouldn’t bother me because it probably isn't even real, but I don’t know what to do, and I just found out today, and-”

“Slow down,” Miles tugged her gently up by her shoulders and placed the mug of tea back in her hands. “Drink this.”

She wordlessly obeyed.

“Now, let’s talk about this. Why is this scaring you so badly?”

She sniffled, placing the tea near her feet and turning to Miles. He was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, so close that their knees were touching. He looked calm, and kind.

“What if-” she sniffed again. “What if the bad person I was makes me bad now?”

Miles’s expression softened. He lifted a hand to her shoulder. “Aelia, that’s crazy-”

“Pretend it’s not,” she said wildly. “Pretend, just for a second, that we live in a world where everyone has past lives, and that sometimes those lives catch up to us. Pretend that it could happen. Please, just for a second.”

He sighed. His fingers slid unconsciously down to rest at her elbow. Usually, Aelia would find this unbearable- the casual touching, the close proximity- but strangely it wasn’t. Miles’s warmth was a comfort right now. She’d only ever felt this at ease with Rose.

“I guess,” he worried at his lower lip with his teeth. “I guess you just have to remember the person you are now. And remember the relationships you have now. And if your past life does come back to bite you in the ass, remember that this life is the one that matters. And that you always have a choice.”

“What if all those choices lead to the same place?” She whispered.

Miles frowned down at her. At first, she thought he was going to keep dropping wisdom bombs on her, but instead he just said, “Come here,” and gathered her up into his arms.

It should have been awkward- Aelia had slid partway into his lap, and his chin was bony where it rested on her shoulder, and she was pretty sure she was getting snot on his neck- but it really wasn’t. Instead, she felt warm, and safe, and protected. Like even if everything she was afraid of came true, somehow, it would still all be okay.

“Better?” Miles murmured. She nodded into his shirt.

“Good,” he said, and held her tighter.

—

Aelia left the shop an hour later. A good cry, a lot of hugging, and the cementing of her and Miles’s friendship had left her feeling much better than she had when she’d arrived.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?” Miles asked as he walked her out.

“No, it’s okay,” she said. “This is our only car between the three of us, so I kind of have to take it back.”

Miles nodded. “Well. That was-”

“Interesting,” she nodded. Her eyes were almost certainly still a little bit red. “Sorry for crying on you.”

“Anytime, really,” he smiled, then turned serious. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Yeah, of course. Just- thank you. I know that was a really weird freak out to have, and you were really awesome about it.”

“Hey, we all have something.”

Aelia chuckled sheepishly. “God, you’re telling me.”

They stood in awkward silence in the doorway for a few moments. Long enough for Aelia to notice how the sunset glinted prettily off of Miles’s hair.

“Well,” she said abruptly. “I should be getting back.”

“Right, yeah,” Miles said.

“I’ll see you soon-ish?” She searched him for any sign of apprehension at the suggestion.

“Soonish works,” he smiled. She found none.

“Cool. Cool cool cool. Well,” Aelia gave an awkward little wave. “Bye!”

And with that she climbed into the car and sped off, just barely avoiding crushing her own skull against the steering wheel in embarrassment. She just spent an entire afternoon crying into his shirt, and she couldn’t even give him a normal goodbye? Miles must've been the most patient person in the world to befriend her, she thought. Just truly a saint. There was no other explanation.

She phoned Arthur from the car to let him know she was coming back.

“Alright,” he whispered. “Just make sure to come in quietly. Merlin’s asleep.”

“Okay,” she said. Quiet worked. Quiet was very doable.

Because in her hour with Miles, Aelia had not only calmed down. Aelia had formulated a plan.

———

The sun was just setting when Aelia noisily entered the cottage.

“Shh!” Arthur hushed her.

"I didn't say anything," she murmured as she removed her coat.

"Shhh!" He said again, this time at the way the closet door squeaked when Aelia put her things away.

“Arthur, you’re being louder than I am right now,” she whispered irritably.

“Shh!” Arthur flapped his hands at her. “I just got Merlin to fall asleep like an hour ago.”

“Did he keep sneaking books into his room,” she smirked.

“Yes,” Arthur said. “I kept having to take them away from him.”

“Jeeze. Well, at least he’s sleeping now. I’m heading to the basement for awhile. Do you need anything?”

“The basement?” Arthur stopped, the gears in his brain turning. “What do you need from there?”

Aelia shrugged. “Books, mostly. I wanted to see if I could find anything on these dreams.”

Arthur blanched, making to block her as she moved through the kitchen toward the stairwell. “Maaaaybe that’s not such a good idea.”

She frowned suspiciously, crossing her arms. “Why not?”

“Because,” he squinted at her as he deliberated. It’s not like he could tell her, _oh, because Merlin thinks you’re the reincarnation of my evil half-sister and he doesn’t want you traversing any further down that path, so maybe we don't dig into those dreams of yours quite yet?_

“Because you’re tired,” He said instead. “You’ve had a long day. You need a break.”

Aelia quirked an eyebrow. “I’m good,” she said dubiously. “Though you might want to take one. You know what they say, right mother hen?”

She took advantage of his momentary indignance to duck under his arm.

“And what is it they say?” Arthur crossed his arms testily.

“Well when the baby sleeps, you should sleep. Merlin is the baby in this scenario, ergo, you should _be asleep.”_

All of a sudden, a wave of drowsiness hit Arthur and sent him down to the floor, reeling.

———

Okay, so maybe knocking Arthur out wasn’t the best way to start her mission. It was fairly Morgana-esque in its execution. If she wasn’t actually Morgana, she’d just pulled a pretty dick move. And if she was… well… at least she was predictable.

So was step two of her plan.

Their basement was stocked with spellbooks- more than Killian at the Dragon’s Hoard could ever dream of. The only problem was that they were all enchanted- Aelia could only read what Merlin approved of. Summoning the precise book she would need was going to be tricky for that alone. She had to focus, and hope that Merlin didn’t wake up from his nap anytime soon. She was confident she’d be alright- that man slept like the dead if you gave him the right pillow.

She cleared her mind of everything except what she wanted.

 _A way past the charms on these books,_ she thought, _a way past the locks on Merlin’s private collection. A way past his door. Preferably something that can do all three._

 _“ðyld−ian me ðone as witt yfel feccan,”_ she muttered.

A book flew off of one of the back shelves and landed neatly in her palms. A codex. _The_ codex. The one she was forbidden from touching and was bespelled to deny her if she ever tried to open it. It shivered at her touch, struggling to obey both her spell, and Merlin’s commands. But it was here. Right in front of her.

She couldn’t believe that had worked.

Now for the tricky part. She bounded up the stairs.

The thing was, Merlin’s enchantments were made specifically for her. Or rather, her bloodline. Her mother’s blood had been used to bind them, which meant Merlin hadn’t had to recast anything Aelia had first become his apprentice.

It also meant that there was one other person in the house that could read anything they wanted in Merlin’s library. And he probably didn’t even know it.

“Sorry about this Wart,” she muttered, and placed the book on Arthur’s sleeping chest. It burst open the moment she removed her hands, right to the information she needed. Aelia smiled giddily as she photographed the pages with her phone.

“Thank you,” she said to Arthur’s prone form. The codex snapped shut the second she picked it up, but that was alright- she already had what she needed.

She returned the codex to the basement, and then proceeded to Merlin’s study, stepping awkwardly over Arthur as she went.

Merlin’s door was being an asshole, as usual, creaking up a storm as she approached.

“Would you shut up?” She said. The door groaned in response.

“Fine. You know, I really didn’t want to do this, but if you’re going to throw a hissy fit…”

She ran a finger down the center of the door and whispered, _“Mia kai to méllon.”_

The door quieted and unlocked with a faint _snick._ Aelia could have cried with jubilation- the password had _worked_. She was actually inside of Merlin’s study. _Without Merlin._ It was a heady feeling, but there was no time to lose by basking in it- she headed straight for the glass bookcase behind Merlin’s desk.

These were some of the only books Merlin hadn’t enchanted when her mother had become his apprentice- not that he ever needed to before. They were locked away with a magical password that only _he_ was supposed to know. Hell, she sort of doubted Merlin would notice they were gone, because he never would have expected someone to take them in the first place. And now Aelia would.

A strange mix of pride, shame, guilt, and conviction roiled in her gut. On the one hand, she knew that what she was doing was wrong- she shouldn’t steal from Merlin. It was a shitty way to repay him after everything he’d done for her- everything he helped her through. On the other hand, if all went according to plan, she’ll have outsmarted _Merlin._ _The Merlin._ And sue her, but she was only human and that was one hell of an accomplishment. And on yet another hand, if she really _was_ Morgana, with all of Morgana’s magic, she could help them with this one little spell. And goodness knew that Merlin would never let her do it if she told him her plan. He’d call it a stupid risk. And he’d be right.

But hey, sometimes you need an idiot to pull the trigger.

 _“Éna kai mellontikó proktó,”_ she whispered. The glass case flew open.

———

When Arthur came to, it was dark, a lump was growing at the back of his head, and there was chanting coming from Aelia’s bedroom. For a moment, he was content to lay there, counting the ceiling tiles.

Then he remembered- _Aelia._ Aelia coming home. Aelia knocking him out.

 _Merlin,_ he thought with dismay. Arthur leapt up and rushed blindly down the hall. Was he alive? Was he alright? Had the Morgana in Aelia come out, taken over, and killed him? Arthur barged into Merlin’s dark room, dreading what he might find-

But there was nothing- not even a dust mote- out of place. Merlin was exactly where Arthur had left him hours earlier, sprawled out on the bed with a book open on his steadily rising and falling chest. Arthur could have cried with relief.

He trudged wearily over to the bed and picked up the book, surprised to find that it wasn’t research. _The DaVinci Code._ He bit back a smile, remembering how he’d picked this very book out of Merlin’s shelves the morning he’d returned. He set it down on the bedside table and looked back at Merlin.

He looked an absolute mess. His wavy hair was in total disarray, his reading glasses had slid down his nose and were dangling off of his ridiculous ears, and his mouth hung open -Arthur was only faintly surprised to find that he wasn’t snoring- while his ungainly limbs had strewn themselves carelessly about to resemble a scarecrow in a strong wind. Arthur huffed out a breath of laughter at the sight of him. For the most powerful sorcerer in the world, Merlin could be surprisingly human.

He removed his glasses and placed them atop the book. They could talk in the morning. For now, Arthur would have to deal with his upstart apprentice.

Aelia didn’t look up from the large book she had at her side when Arthur entered the room.

“You’re awake,” she said in lieu of greeting. Or an apology.

“You knocked me out,” Arthur said, rubbing the back of his head.

“Sorry about that,” she said, and strangely enough, she actually did look sorry. “I needed the codex to get into Merlin's study, and I needed you to get into the codex. The books aren’t enchanted to respond any certain way to you, so…”

Arthur frowned in confusion. Aelia had gone into Merlin's study? He glanced down- indeed, the large book in her hands was one that Merlin usually kept in the glass case behind his desk- one of the ones he specifically referred to as being a part of his personal collection, the ones that he had almost bitten Arthur's head off for touching because they were for Merlin's eyes alone.

"You stole from-"

"It was an emergency-"

"You used me to steal-"

"I'm sorry! I didn't know what else to do!"

 _Not steal,_ was the first response that popped into Arthur's head, but he refrained from saying so. Instead, he said, “You know you could’ve just asked me to help you. I might’ve said yes.”

She quirked a challenging eyebrow. “Oh really? Like I _asked_ you not to tell Merlin about my dreams?”

Arthur blanched, his mind rewinding back to the whispering gasp he’d heard outside of Merlin’s study that morning.

“You _eavesdropped,”_ he gasped.

“You said you wouldn’t tell Merlin,” she countered hotly.

“How much did you hear?” Arthur asked.

“Enough,” she said.

Arthur leveled her with a deadpan stare. “Aelia.”

Her jaw clenched minutely. She refused to meet his gaze. Finally, she said, “I know you think I’m Morgana.”

 _Damn it._ Arthur sighed.

“Aelia-”

“No, it’s okay,” she said, with faux cheeriness. “If it’s true, that means this might work.”

“What are you talking about?” He said cautiously.

“I found a spell,” she said. “To… focus my dreams. When I dream things about my past life- or lives, I don’t know how many there are- I can focus them on… you.”

Arthur cocked his head. “Why me?”

“Well, that’s what Merlin’s been trying to figure out, right? Why you’ve returned? Maybe, if I can find away for these dreams to help him, he’ll… I don’t know. Maybe he won’t care that I’m Morgana… Maybe then I can prove to him that I can still be good.”

So that’s what this was about. Arthur felt his heart broke a little bit. “Aelia…”

He sighed, relaxing against the doorframe. There was nothing he could say, besides, “Merlin knows you’re good.”

“Then why won’t he teach me anymore?” She exclaimed. “Why doesn’t he let me help with anything?”

“He’s scared,” Arthur said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “And sometimes people do stupid things when they’re scared.”

“I know,” she said. “I just hate that he’s scared of me.”

Arthur had never seen her look less like Morgana than she did in that moment. Morgana had always been confident. Even when she’d lost everything, even as she died, she had never wavered, never seemed to question herself. And here was Aelia, not much younger than she’d been, so filled with self-doubt that she’d knocked Arthur out and stolen from Merlin’s study in some backwards attempt to prove that she was still good. Even if she were Morgana, she was still good. Arthur had so readily believed Merlin when he’d said that the two of them were one and the same. But now, looking at Aelia, they couldn’t seem further apart.

“I don’t think he has any reason to be,” Arthur said quietly.

“Why?” She demanded.

“Because I don’t think that you’re Morgana.” He said patiently. “And even if you are… even if you are, things will be different.”

_“How?”_

“Because this time, you’ll have Merlin and I to keep you right,” he assured her.

“Promise?”

She sounded like a child when she said it.

Arthur stuck out his hand, extending his little finger the way he’d seen her and Merlin do sometimes when one of them was feeling fatuous.

“Pinky promise,” he quoted them. An unwarranted smile touched at Aelia’s lips. She took Arthur’s pinky.

“You don’t have to do this you know,” Arthur said, nodding towards the book.

“Yeah I do,” she released him with a tired sort of smile. “And not just for you. I need to know. Besides, I can't have stolen this for nothing.”

A heavy silence lingered between them. Aelia glanced awkwardly at the book, then at Arthur, then back at the book. He leaned against the wall. “So when are you planning to do it?”

“Tonight, if possible. It’s actually a pretty easy spell to do. I just need a bowl and some kind of talisman from you- and I kind of already took some of your hair.”

Arthur’s eyebrows flew up, his previous sympathy forgotten. “You took my hair?”

“Only a little bit.”

“You _took_ my _hair?”_

“You were asleep!” She exclaimed. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“Wait for me to wake up!”

“Well, I didn’t know that you’d be okay with it!”

Arthur heaved a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “God, you’re going kill me.”

She at least had the decency to look sheepish about it.

“Alright,” Arthur shook his head without opening his eyes. “Get on with it.”

Aelia’s eyes widened. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now. Make it quick and we’ll still have time eat. And then we can have conversation about the importance of boundaries, and when you are and are not allowed to knock me out."

She nodded and offered him a rueful smile.

The spell was unexpectedly simple. He watched as Aelia drew an ornate chalk circle on her desk and placed a small clay bowl containing a tuft of his own hair in the middle.

“Where did you even cut that from?”

“Behind your ear,” she said automatically. Arthur frowned and reached back to check that- yes. There was definitely a piece missing.

“Sorry again,” she said. Then she took a pair of scissors, snipped a short piece of her own hair from the back of her head, and braided that with Arthur’s in the bowl. With a whispered word, the braid caught fire. She leaned forward and took a deep breath of the acrid smoke, chest spasming as she tried to keep from coughing. Then she muttered something in a language Arthur didn’t recognize, and her eyes flashed gold.

“Alright,” she said, sitting back. Arthur frowned. “Is that it?”

“That’s it,” she tipped the ashes from the bowl into the bin at her feet and wiped the chalk off of her desk. “What did you say about food?”

Neither of them felt overly-motivated to cook, so they decided to make the last of the ravioli from the ice box with pre-bottled marinara sauce. After he made sure Aelia was alright with the pasta (“I know how to do this better than _you_ do, Wart”), Arthur went to wake Merlin.

He hadn’t moved since Arthur had frantically checked in on him half an hour earlier. He was still star-fished across his bed, mouth ajar. Arthur huffed a slight laugh.

“Merlin,” he murmured, reaching out to shake him. “Merlin.”

Merlin’s nose wrinkled as he blinked awake, squinting at the light from the hall. “Mmm?” He said into his pillow.

“We’re making dinner.”

Merlin frowned sleepily, his eyes already sliding shut. “Mmmm… be there in a minute.”

Arthur’s lips quirked. There was no way Merlin was leaving this bed. “Alright,” he said. “Get some rest.”

He pulled the blanket up to his chin and returned to the kitchen.

“He okay?” Aelia asked.

“I think he’s going to sleep,” he said.

“Good,” she smiled. “He needs a break.”

“And we need to talk.”

Aelia’s shoulders automatically drooped. “Look, I know what I did was-”

“Bad. And wrong. And invasive.”

“Yes,” she nodded awkwardly as she stirred the pasta. “All those things. And I’m really, really sorry. I just… I didn’t what else to do.”

Arthur sighed. “You can talk to Merlin. You can talk me, like you did this morning.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “You, who immediately ran to tell Merlin about what I specifically asked you not to tell him about?”

That was unfortunately fair. He nodded. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

She shifted uncomfortably. Clearly, she hadn’t expected that. ”Thanks,” she said.

There was a beat of silence. Then, "I’m sorry I knocked you out and took your hair."

“Thank you.”

They were quiet for awhile, as Arthur went about setting the table while Aelia finished with the pasta and washed out the pot.

“You know, I would’ve helped you, if you’d asked,” he said when they were finally settled. Aelia had dug into her plate with gusto- she said that spellwork made her hungry.

She raised a disbelieving eyebrow, a smile curling at her lips. “No, you wouldn’t have.”

“No, I wouldn’t have,” he agreed. She let out a short huff of laughter.

“You have to admit though,” she said hesitantly. “It was kind of a brilliant plan.”

He leveled her with a mild glare. “Don’t push it.”

“Yep.”

A few bites later, he asked, “So, how will we know that it worked?”

She shrugged, slurping up a noodle before she answered. “I guess we just wait and see what I dream tonight?”

Arthur nodded uneasily.

“Hey, Arthur?”

“Hmm?”

Aelia shifted uncomfortably, stabbing at her ravioli. “I know this isn’t the right time to ask, but can you, possibly, not tell Merlin about the whole, me-breaking-into-his-private-collection-and-trying-this-spell, thing?”

He sighed. “Aelia…”

“Please. I know that I don’t have the right to ask you for a favor right now, but I just- I’d really appreciate it. At least until we know that it worked or not.”

Arthur considered her for a long moment, letting out a minute sigh as he did. On one hand, lying to Merlin was the last thing he wanted to get himself involved in. But on the other, it wasn’t, technically, _his_ lie. And he wanted to help Aelia, he genuinely did.

“Fine,” he finally said. “But if something goes wrong, I’m telling him. No exceptions.”

“Deal,” she said. They shook on it.

“So,” Aelia said. “What did you guys do today?”

Arthur hadn’t done much of anything besides trying to get Merlin to sleep, so instead he listened as Aelia recounted her afternoon in the village bookshop.

“I like it there,” she smiled something shy and fond, the same smile that the court ladies had worn around Lancelot, and Gwaine, and some of them Gwen. The smile of the young and smitten.

“Oh?” Arthur said with a sly grin. “What’s her name?”

Aelia blushed. “His name is Miles.”

Arthur’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline. “Oh. So you like-”

“Both,” Aelia said. “Yes.”

“Hm,” he nodded. “Alright.”

Soon enough, they got into a lively discussion over whether or not Romeo and Juliet was a love story or a cautionary tale. Aelia took an interesting position- that the cautionary tale was for the parents, and not the children.

“It’s about acceptance,” she said around a sip of wine. They’d cleaned up in the kitchen and moved to the sitting room. Aelia was sitting the floor, leaning against the sofa and animatedly gesticulating as she explained- “-it’s like, showing how when kids don’t feel accepted by their families, they take really drastic measures. So parents need to set aside their preconceptions and just… love their kid. Especially when it comes to who their kid loves.”

“Is that what happened to you?” Arthur asked, his curiosity and the alcohol both getting the better of him where he was lounging in the easy chair. “With your parents, when you began courting women?”

Aelia grew suddenly quiet, her cheeky grin vanishing. She traced a pensive finger around the rim of her glass. Arthur was just beginning to regret asking when she finally spoke.

“Well, I never knew my dad,” she said. “But my mom…”

He waited as she swallowed harshly, then shook her head. “I always meant to tell her, you know? But, um… being not-straight, and being Chaldean is… it's not...”

She took a shaky breath, cleared her throat. “I have this cousin who came out a few years ago? Sorry, coming out means that she told us all that she was gay. Anyway, she told us when she got engaged, and afterwards… nothing was ever really the same for her. Everyone would be so kind to her face. And then the second she left, they’d just tear into everything she did. It was like nothing was ever good enough, because she loved women. And my mom… she never really did anything to participate, but she never stood up for her either.

“I was going to tell her, really, but I was just so scared of what she’d say, you know? How she’d react to it all. And I didn’t want to embarrass her, and I honestly didn’t think it mattered yet. I mean, I was here, she was in the States, and it wasn’t like I was seeing anyone anyway. And then Tilly and I started going out, and I wanted to tell her about it, but then…”

“She died,” Arthur said. Aelia nodded. Her knees had curled up to her chest, her wineglass forgotten at her side. She seemed small, and lonely, and so young. Arthur remembered being that young and longing for a mother he'd never known. He remembered being older still, and mourning a father who had never quite loved him like he'd hoped he would. He understood the complicated grief for a parent who never fully knew you, and the jagged regret that came with knowing that now, they never could. He stood up from the easy chair, and went to sit beside her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s horrible.”

She shrugged. “It’s my own fault,” she said bitterly. “The rest of my family still has no idea. For people who are so accepting of magic, they’re surprisingly conservative.”

Arthur huffed out a little laugh, then turned to look back at her with faint surprise. “Your family knows about your magic?”

She laughed. “I mean, they’re kind of the ones who taught me before Merlin. Well, mostly my mom, but Aunt Aida taught me this really cool charm to straighten my hair without a flat iron. I used it every day in eighth grade.”

“So they all have magic?” Arthur said.

“Well, no, not everybody. But they do all know about it. My nana and my mom were Merlin’s apprentice’s before me. That’s kind of how I got to be here.”

“Is it passed down, or…”

“No,” Aelia grinned. “My family is… old. And very powerful. Chaldea, before it fell, was kind of an epicenter for magic. People went there to study, to collaborate, to teach… My family is descended from all of that. I guess you could say we have a natural aptitude for it. A lot of us became Merlin’s apprentice at some point or another.”

Arthur hummed, contemplating all that she’d said, when a thought came to him.

“Aelia?” He said. “How did you know?”

“About my magic? I threw a brick through a window to let a cat out.”

Arthur frowned. “That’s not magic.”

“I used my _mind_ to throw it.”

“Ah. No, sorry, that’s not what I meant. How did you know that you…”

She raised a quizzical brow as he struggled.

"That you... that you were… ehm… that you were interested in both-?”

“That I was bisexual?” She supplied.

 _A term meaning sexually attracted to both men and women,_ Arthur winced at the bald way the library put it.

“Yes,” he nodded, graciously ignoring her snort. "That."

“Well,” she began, “I guess it was a lot of things. Like- I’d notice that girls were pretty. And soft. And that I really liked being around them. And then, I guess, one day, I was hanging out with my friend, and I just… realized that I wanted to kiss her.”

She let out a tiny laugh. “At first I thought I was a lesbian. But then I realized I still liked boys, which led to a _lot_ of confusion. And then another friend said that I could be bi, and… yeah. That was kind of it.”

Arthur nodded. “Sounds about right,” he muttered.

“Hmm?” Aelia said.

“Nothing,” he said hurriedly. She spent a long moment scrutinizing him, then gave up.

“Alright,” she said with a great yawn. “Well, thank you for listening to my life’s story, but I have class tomorrow, so I think I’m going to head to sleep. See you in the morning?”

Arthur hummed in assent as she stood up. “Goodnight,” she said.

“Night,” he replied distractedly.

She left Arthur staring into the blank television long after she left, thinking. Reflecting.

Remembering.

When Arthur had been a squire, he’d met a boy named Jericho.

_He was 15, stupid, and constantly chasing after the court ladies’ skirts, much to Uther’s amusement and Morgana’s disapproval. One day he was trying to coax a visiting noble’s daughter into a short romp behind the stables, when her younger brother came blustering around the corner and knocked Arthur right off his feet._

_After he’d spit the mud out of his mouth, he peered up to find a slight, auburn-haired boy grinning down at him._

_From that moment on, Arthur and Jericho were inseparable._

_Jericho was a squire, like Arthur. They trained together, attended to their knights together, and skived off of council sessions together to escape into the fields beyond the town. Jericho’s father was a friend of Uther’s from the days of conquering Camelot, and the entire family was staying in the kingdom for the summer. Arthur soon discovered that the two of them could get away with just about anything if they were together- their fathers clearly hoped they’d carry on their own alliance. One time, Arthur had been caught stealing tarts from the kitchen. Uther had been about to give him a booming lecture, when Jericho had burst into his chambers, exclaiming, “Did you get them? Oh, your Majesty-”_

_Uther’s thunderous expression had immediately cleared at Jericho’s exaggerated bow. He'd let out indulgent chuckle and said, “Boys,” and left without a single angry word._

_“Heard you were in trouble,” Jericho had grinned, his hazel eyes sparkling, and Arthur had only the time to think oh, before Jericho tackled him onto the bed and began to whinge on about his tutor._

_Jericho had been kind, sharp-eyed and -tongued, and eternally interested in hunting, training, and sword fighting. He’d been the perfect companion for Arthur. The perfect friend._

_Two weeks before Jericho was due to leave, he and Arthur escaped into the woods with a pair of wooden swords. But instead of fighting, they busied themselves with watching the clouds go by and discussing the stupidest things in solemn, hushed voices- if Uther would approve of Morgana’s latest suitor, or if Gaius’s hair was really a wig. Then suddenly, the conversation took a turn for the truly serious._

_“Are you afraid to be king?” Jericho asked him._

_“No,” Arthur scoffed flippantly. “Are you afraid to be a lord?”_

_“Of course not,” Jericho laughed. “Besides, I’ll be lord under you. That’s not scary at all.”_

_“No?” Arthur turned toward him._

_"Not even a little bit." Jericho said with total conviction. "You’re going to be a great king, Arthur."_

_Arthur shifted back, worrying at his lip. He wondered if he should say what he’d been thinking since that day Jericho had rescued him from his father._

_“You should stay,” Arthur finally whispered to the foliage._

_“Hmm?” Jericho said._

_“Stay.” Arthur said. “Here. In Camelot. Stay.”_

_Jericho rolled onto his side, Arthur copying him so that they faced each other._

_“You want me to stay?”_

_“Yes,” he nearly begged. “Please.”_

_Jericho arched an eyebrow. “Why?”_

_And Arthur didn’t know what came over him, but next thing he knew all he could see was sun-darkened skin and hazel eyes sliding shut as he slotted their mouths together again and again,._

_“I was wondering when you’d do that,” Jericho grinned. Arthur could only groan and dip down again._

_They’d spent that afternoon and every afternoon after in those woods, trading kisses until Jericho had to leave._

_The next summer, Jericho’s father returned without him.According to what snatches of conversation Arthur could catch from Morgana’s chamber, Jericho had been caught with a serving boy in his bed, and had been effectively exiled from his father’s lands._

_Arthur never kissed another boy again after that._

But now it was fine. It was acceptable. There were no crowns or lords or fathers with the power to rip everything he’d worked for out of his hands. And though he'd been attracted to women, he’d never quite stopped looking at men. Never quite stopped wanting.

Arthur’s head flopped back against the sofa. Bisexual, Aelia had called it. The word was oddly fitting.

———

Aelia was already munching on a bowl of cereal at the kitchen table when Merlin trudged in on sleep-heavy feet. He nodded good morning to her as he helped himself to a cup of coffee. Arthur wasn’t up yet- he'd always liked to lie in when he had the chance to.

“How’d you sleep?” Aelia said when he joined her.

“Good,” he said, and was surprised to find that he meant it. He’d awoken feeling refreshed for the first time in weeks. He had a vague memory of Arthur asking him if he wanted dinner a few hours after he’d dozed off, but besides that, he’d gone uninterrupted. It was surprisingly nice. And now, he had a clear head with which to dive back into his work.

“How about you?” He asked. Aelia shrugged. “Better than I expected.”

Merlin’s brow furrowed as he remembered what Arthur had told him the morning before. But she looked well rested- or at least the dark circles that had come to hang under her eyes were lighter. Perhaps the dreams had stopped. Before he could surreptitiously inquire any further, Arthur stomped into the kitchen and sank heavily into his chair

“Morning,” he grunted, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he swiped the coffee out of Merlin’s hands.

“Hey!”

Arthur took a deep swig and handed it back to him. “Oh calm down.”

“There’s a full pot on the counter,” Merlin groused.

“Too far,” Arthur mumbled.

Merlin rolled his eyes, barely resisting the urge to flick him in the ear, and turned his attention back to Aelia.

“Don’t you have class today?”

“Rose is picking me up in about an hour,” she nodded. “Hey, can she come over tomorrow? We wanted to work on something for Lit.”

“Sure,” Merlin said. “Just make sure you-”

“Stay out of the study, I know. You say that every time she comes over.”

If Merlin didn’t know any better, he would have sworn she and Arthur exchanged a furtive glance at that.

“How’s the research coming?” She distracted him.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ve been reading some of Annabel Conley’s prophecies. They’re very promising-”

Suddenly, Aelia let out a sharp yelp and dropped face-first into her cereal.

Merlin could do no more than stare bewilderedly. "What the hell?"

Arthur leaned across the table and poked her in the arm. Droplets of milk had caught in her hair when she’d fallen and were dripping innocuously onto the floor.

“Is she-”

Aelia shot up, coughing. Milk ran from her nose, and a cornflake was stuck to her cheek.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked as Merlin said, “What was that?”

“I think I fell asleep,” she muttered, deftly wiping at her face with a napkin.

“I'm sorry, you did what?” Merlin said.

“I fell asleep,” she replied calmly. “Sorry, Merlin, what were you saying?”

Merlin stared at her incredulously. “Aelia, you just collapsed into your breakfast and you want me to talk about Annabel Conley-”

And again, she dropped like a stone. She was only down for a moment longer than before when she lurched back, sending her soaking hair flying haphazardly about.

“What-”

“I’m fine,” she waved him off. “I just didn’t sleep well, is all.”

He shook his head. “You can’t possibly expect me to believe-”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take another shower.”

She cleared her plate and retreated to her room, casting a meaningful look back at them that Merlin couldn’t decipher.

“What in the world-” he muttered. He turned back to Arthur. There was a troubled twist to his brow.

“Do you know what’s going on with her?” He asked.

Arthur shook his head stoically. “Not a clue.”

Merlin chewed at the inside of his cheek. “Maybe it’s the dreams,” he said. “Could they be getting worse?”

Arthur shrugged. Merlin leaned back, considering. He couldn’t ask her himself, but…

“Perhaps you could talk to her about it.” Merlin asked.

Arthur winced. "Merlin-"

“Just to make sure she’s alright," Merlin assured him.

He seemed hesitant. “I don’t know if-”

“Please. Arthur, just- please.”

Arthur stared at him for a long moment, and heaved a deep sigh.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll talk to her.”

———

 _This is bad, this is bad, this is bad_ \- the thought ran through Aelia’s head in a mantra, intent on reminding her how absolutely fucked she was. She tried to ignore it as she redonned the clothes she’d been wearing before and braided her newly wet hair. Then, she drew a steadying breath, and met her own gaze in the mirror. “Everything is fine,” she murmured. “You can do this.”

Her reflection didn’t seem to believe her.

“Aelia?” A voice from outside broke into her thoughts. Arthur. She opened the door to yank him inside.

“Thank God you’re here,” she said. He ignored her. “What the hell was that?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

“Was it the spell? Did it work?”

“Kind of?”

Arthur’s already impressively deep frown deepened. “What does that mean?”

She bit the inside of her cheek and fussed at one of her braids. “I don’t know. My dreams were… confusing.”

“Confusing how?”

“I… I was in the cave again. And you were there, and we were fighting? Or I was chasing you? I don’t know, it’s all muddled.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Did you happen to be stabbing me in this dream?”

“No!” She exclaimed. “God, no. I didn’t hurt you, I know that much. But it didn’t- it didn’t tell me why you were back.”

Arthur sighed in frustration and crossed his arms, one restless foot tapping at the tile. “And just now? At breakfast?”

“I don’t know. Merlin said something about Annie Connel?”

“Annabel Conley-”

Aelia's vision went dark.

_A torch-_

_A battle-_

_Lightning flashing from the sky and searing her torso-_

“Aelia!”

When she came to, she was laying on the bathroom floor, her head resting upon Arthur’s knee.

“What the hell was that?” He said.

“New plan,” she grunted as he helped her up. “No more talking about AC.”

“Annabel-?”

“Don’t!” She jerked a finger up to stop him. “Don’t you dare.”

Arthur held his hands up in a placating gesture, and she relaxed.

“Is this because of the spell?” He said warily.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

It wasn’t supposed to affect her like this. It was supposed to be easy, or at least straightforward. She'd sleep, she'd dream, she'd understand Arthur's purpose. One and done. All hail Aelia: the brilliant and powerful.

“I think we should tell Merlin,” Arthur broke into her thoughts and sent them into a frenzy.

“No, don’t!” She grabbed his arm. “If he finds out he’ll kill me.”

Arthur shook her off of him. “I can’t lie to him.” He looked appalled at the very thought.

“Please,” she begged. “I just need to double check the text and fix whatever this is. It’s barely lying!”

“Aelia, I-”

“It’ll only be an hour! Two at the most-”

“Aelia!” Merlin’s voice called from the kitchen. “Rose is here.”

 _Shit._ Arthur turned to her with a stony glare.

“Okay,” she winced. “Maybe a little more than two hours. But I’ll figure it out as soon as I get back!”

“You’d better,” he growled.

———

Something was off about Arthur.

It was a tiny thing. Infinitesimal, really- the sort of thing Merlin wouldn't have ever noticed if he weren't in love with the prat.

In love. He was in love with Arthur. It came as a shock every time he thought it, yet it was the most natural thing in the world. It was sinking into his bed after a long day of non-stop work, or seeing the first flowers come up in spring, or perfecting a new spell on his first try. It was right and peaceful in a way that tugged at his bones and made him want to curl up and sleep, like they had done yesterday morning. It was warm, and familiar, and _safe,_ despite the nagging ache in his chest that accompanied it. And of course, the second he realized what he felt was the same second that Arthur decided to pull away.

It was there in the way his eyes darted from Merlin’s where only the day before they'd lingered, and in how the reassuring squeeze of his shoulder felt strangely… forced. If Merlin didn’t know any better, he’d say that Arthur had figured him out. Except that was impossible- Merlin had only just realized it himself. Unless… did Arthur know before him? No. Definitely not. But perhaps-

“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice broke into his thoughts. He was watching him expectantly. “You were telling me about-?”

“Annabel Conley, yes. Sorry.”

They’d moved the research out into the sitting room. Merlin was kneeling at the coffee table while Arthur sat across from him on the sofa. They tea that Arthur had brewed under Merlin’s careful eye had long since gone cold. Arthur was getting better and better at being in the future, Merlin mused distractedly. He’d only set the toaster on fire once this week, and that had only been because-

 _“Mer_ lin-”

“Sorry," he cleared his throat, turning back to the task at hand. "Annabel is an old friend of mine. We kept in touch when she traveled to America, and when she came back, she’d recorded an entire book of her prophecies. She said that the energy was different there. Something to do with the lines. Whatever it was, it allowed her to See better.”

“Lines?” Arthur frowned.

“Ley lines,” Merlin explained. “They’re like… belts of energy that run around the world. A few of them actually intersect in Penzance. There used to be this absolutely _huge_ magical festival there every year, before paganism became taboo.”

Arthur hummed. “Did you go?”

Merlin shrugged as he opened another book. “No. I did always want to see it though.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He glanced up, and was greeted by a troubled furrow to Arthur's brow.

“I had to be here," Merlin gestured about the room. “I had too many responsibilities to just disappear for a week.”

Arthur scoffed. “I’m sure your apprentice’s would have been happy to accompany you.”

“I’m sure they would have. A few of them actually got sick of waiting for me to take them and went by themselves.”

“But you- oh.”

Merlin saw the moment when comprehension dawned on Arthur’s face, and found that it was sort of devastating. Because with the comprehension came horror, and guilt, with something like regret topping it all off and dropping the bottom off of Merlin's heart.

“So you never...” Arthur started. Stopped. Tried again. “You never left? Not once? You’ve been here the entire time?”

Merlin nodded slowly, painfully unsure of how to proceed.

“But I- you- that’s fifteen hundred years, Merlin!”

“Arthur, don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t _worry-_ fifteen hundred years! _I_ traveled more than you did.”

“It doesn’t count if it’s in your mind,” Merlin half-heartedly sing-songed in a feeble attempt at heading off the distress so clearly mounting itself in Arthur's eyes.

“So you’ve just- but- why-?”

“Hey,” Merlin finally just leaned forward and captured Arthur's flailing hands between his own. “Don’t worry. Really. I wanted to be here.”

“More than at that festival?”

Merlin tried for a grin. It probably came out as a grimace. “If I had gone I just would’ve worried about being here the whole time anyway. Sometimes it’s best to stay put.”

Arthur didn’t look convinced, but it wasn’t as if Merlin could tell him that whenever he did imagine traveling, it was always with Arthur by his side without giving away too much. And besides, he’d tried it once. After the first thousand years, he’d taken a holiday in Venice. He hadn’t even reached London before he was crawling back to the lake, tears staining his cheeks as checking every room of his empty cottage to see if Arthur had come back without his notice. He’d been terrified that he’d missed him for decades after, until the Sidhe assured him that he was still sound asleep beneath the lake.

Then there was that other time, the longest he'd ever been away from Cornwall. But that was different. That was extenuating circumstances. That was _Kaeis-_

“You should travel,” Arthur said quietly, yanking him back to reality. His thumb was making small, slow circles on Merlin’s palm. Merlin wasn’t sure he even noticed. “It’d be good for you.”

His chest tightened. “Nah, can’t go anywhere now.” He forced out. “Too much work to do.”

Arthur’s gaze met his and _stayed_ , and for a shining moment it was like they were back to normal. Then it skittered away and the moment was gone. Merlin released his hands and turned away to hide his disappointment. There it was. One of those strange little things. The eye contact broken when before they would’ve searched each other and allowed themselves to be searched until each had found what they were looking for. It was almost as if-

“Arthur,” Merlin said carefully. “Is everything alright?”

“Of course,” he cleared his throat gruffly. “What were you saying about Annabel Conley?”

Merlin heaved a sigh, and continued to explain.

———

Aelia’s day worsened in Classical Lit.

She’d just taken her usual seat in the back, when the professor took out her copy of T.H White’s _The Once And Future King._ At first she thought nothing of it, but then- the professor began to read aloud from the book.

Aelia dropped.

_A dark cave-_

_A blonde figure on a battlefield-_

_The feeling of soaring through the air-_

_Words piercing her ears and_ yanking _her away-_

“Aelia!”

She shot up. No one else seemed to notice her nodding off except- of course. This was the one class she shared with Tilly. Tilly who was now looking at her with expectant brown eyes as Aelia begrudgingly whispered, “thanks,” and turned her attention back to the professor. It only took a moment for it to happen again.

_A dark cave-_

_A blonde figure holding a sword far below-_

_The wind whistling past-_

_Words piercing her ears and catapulting her away-_

_The distant crash of metal-_

_“Aelia!”_

When she looked up, she found the professor’s eye on her. She managed an apologetic smile, and received a disapproving glare in return. The professor went back to reading.

And then again.

_A dark-_

_A blonde figure-_

_Open air-_

_A force from within ripping her from her mistress, her friend-_

_Metal on metal-_

_The smell of ozone-_

Someone was shaking her awake.

“Sorry professor,” she heard Tilly say. “She’s feeling sick. I’ll just take her home. Won’t happen again.”

And then she was being shoved out of her seat and ushered out of the door by regrettably familiar hands.

“You’re lucky I was there,” Tilly hissed when they reached the parking lot, the sheet of her red hair flickering as she tossed her head.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Aelia muttered. She didn’t want to deal with Tilly right now, not with the thoughts spinning in her head after that. She’d fallen asleep without any mention of Annabel Conley, so that must mean-

“Honestly,” Tilly was saying. "I’m taking you home. How you managed to get into this place with those dreadful habits of yours is beyond me."

“Rude,” Aelia muttered. “How I managed to date you is beyond me.”

Tilly scowled and Aelia felt a vindictive surge of joy as she followed her to her car.

“Get in, and try not to mess anything up,” Tilly said in that horrible, snooty, posh way of hers. God, she was such a dick. Still, Aelia did as she was told. She even tried to offer directions, but Tilly dismissed her with a simple, “I remember where you live.”

So instead, she reexamined what had happened during class. She’d fallen asleep at the mention of two different things now- Annabel Conley, and T.H White. What did they have in common? They must both have something to do with Arthur. Maybe it was because Merlin was using the Conley book for research. Aelia wondered if she would fall asleep at the mention of anything he had used, or if it was just this one book? And if that were the case, did that mean that one of Conley’s prophecies had to do with why Arthur was back? She’d have to test it when she got home- _if_ she got home. She’d forgotten that Tilly couldn’t drive for shit.

Whether by luck, or divine intervention, or the spells Aelia had whispered under her breath along the way, they made it to the cottage in one piece. She muttered a begrudging “thanks.” Tilly responded with an equally begrudging, “you’re welcome,” before she sped away, heading for the campus.

Aelia texted Rose as she entered the cottage- _got a ride home. See you tomorrow love-_ and promptly froze at the familiar sight of Merlin, hunched over a pile of books, while Arthur read quietly at his side. He looked up, the slight twitch of his brow the only indication of his surprise.

“You’re back early,” he said. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine. I just felt a bit sick. I think I’m going to go _lie down,”_ she said, sending a pointed glance Arthur's way. He seemed to get the message, and furthermore, regret that he did. _Sorry buddy,_ she thought to herself, _you're a part of this now._ As she went to her room, she heard Arthur mutter something about “going to go check on her,” followed by the sound of reluctant shuffling.

“What is it?” He said, shutting the door behind him. Aelia already had the book open, and was carefully rereading the passage the spell had come from. It looked just as it had the night before- there was no mention of sudden narcolepsy on part of its caster.

“Damnit,” she muttered. She’d been hoping for a sort of list of side effects, like you’d get on the side of medicine boxes. She reread the spell again, even slower- and realized her mistake.

“Oh,” she swallowed.

“What?” Arthur whispered urgently.

She was almost afraid to look at him. She'd messed up. She'd messed up badly.

"I misread some of the Aramaic," she confessed guiltily. "I thought it was supposed to show me your purpose, but it’s actually meant to show me mine to do with you. I’m so sorry, please don’t freak out."

He looked like he was going to pass out.

"What does that mean?” He hissed.

She reexamined the text. "It says that things bearing your... sign? No, sorry, your- wait yes. Your- I honestly can't translate this as anything other than 'sign of your life-' will, erm, 'inspire sleeping visions' in me. So, from my understanding, if I encounter something that has to do with you now, or in the future, I'll have a dream about our shared destiny..."

Aelia's blood ran cold as she said it. In her dreams, she'd been swooping down to attack someone. A blonde someone, someone who looked quite a bit like Arthur, bedecked in his mail. In the dream, she'd wanted to kill him. Was that destiny?

"Is that why you've been falling asleep?" His voice jarred her from her thoughts.

"Yes," she replied. "Sorry. Yeah, I think so."

“Then you need to remove it," Arthur demanded. "Merlin is suspicious enough as it is."

Aelia nodded. “Yes, sure, I totally will. But first, I want to try something.”

And just when she thought he couldn't get any angrier, Arthur turned a rather lovely shade of puce. His grip tightened around the book in his hands, and he looked to be half a second from bashing it against her head- the _book._ It was one that Merlin had been using for research.

“Yes!” She said. “Perfect! Read me something from that!”

Arthur gaped at her. “Are you insane?!” He cried.

“Trust me!” She exclaimed. “I’ll wake up in a second, just do it.”

He gave her an incredulous stare and an angry little huff before jerking the book open to a random prophecy.

“When evil has risen and good is at its last hope-” he read.

“No,” She interrupted him, a smile slowly growing on her face. “Not that one. It would’ve worked by now. Try another.”

He read another. Nothing happened.

“Excellent,” she beamed. Her theory was proving itself to be correct, but there was one thing she still needed to figure out.

“Now…” she said thoughtfully, “try the foreword.”

Arthur flipped peevishly to the front of the book and began to read.

“In Arthurian-”

And down she went.

_Dark-_

_Blonde-_

_Wind-_

_Wrenched from the sky-_

_Metal-_

_Ozone-_

_A lone figure in swirling robes and that is_ safe _except it_ isn’t _and he’s-_

“Aelia!”

Arthur was kneeling over her.

“I got it,” she sat up so quickly she almost knocked their heads together. “Arthur, I’ve figured it out!” She let out an elated laugh. “All the times I’ve fallen asleep- it’s because of something to do with you, right? But those prophecies, I didn't fall asleep to any of them, so they must not be why you’re back!”

“Aelia-”

"Maybe if you guys, I don’t know, read prophecies to me or something-"

“Aelia-”

“-we can figure out which ones are actually talking about you-”

_"Aelia-"_

"-and we can narrow it down, kind of like a supernatural game of Marco Polo-"

 _“Aelia!”_ Arthur exclaimed. “Do you even know how long you were asleep?”

She shrugged uncertainly. “I mean, I guess it felt a little longer,” she said. “Was it longer?”

Arthur nodded emphatically. “Yes,” he said. “You were out for at least ten minutes. I couldn’t wake you.”

The excited tension leached out of her. “Ten minutes?" She said uneasily. "But this morning it was just a second.”

"When you collapsed in the bathroom it was longer." There was an anxious set to his brow as he inspected her. "It must be getting worse. You have reverse the spell _now."_

She nodded reluctantly. “Okay. Just- okay. There must be something in the book I can use. Or maybe in the basement-?"

“Aelia, I really don’t think-”

But when Arthur spoke, she dropped.

———

It was only when Arthur had resorted to silently shaking her that she finally woke. But the second he opened his mouth to say, “Thank the gods-” she clapped her hand over it.

“Don’t speak,” she whispered. “It’s getting stronger.”

She got up and began rifling through the book, explaining as she went. “I think the spell might be starting to perceive you as a catalyst for the visions,” she said. “God, none of this makes sense.”

He stayed resolutely silent as she scoured the pages for an answer.

“There’s no counter spell,” she muttered. “Why the _fuck_ isn’t there a counter spell?”

 _Maybe it’s supposed to wear off,_ Arthur wanted to say. But clearly something had gone very wrong if that were true, seeing as it was only growing stronger. Finally, Aelia turned back to him.

But the second their eyes met, the strangest thing happened.

It was as if he’d said “Annabel Conley.” Arthur could only watch as she fell.

—

Carrying Merlin’s sleeping apprentice out to him was not one of Arthur’s favorite experiences. Nor was standing there with an armful of eighteen-year-old girl weighing down on him as he tried to explain the situation to a fretful Merlin. He’d only managed to get out the part about the spell going wrong and then he was being rushed into the study and instructed to set Aelia down in one of the wooden chairs.

“Now,” Merlin said. “Tell me what happened.”

Arthur sighed. “I think she was trying to help us figure out why I was back. She found a spell that would, erm, reveal someone’s path? Their purpose?”

“Was there anything specific she did to cast it? A ritual- or maybe a word-?”

“Our hair!” Arthur exclaimed. “She burned some of our hair.”

Merlin’s head shot up at that. He stared incredulously between him and Aelia. "A spell to focus visions?" He said. "But that’s advanced magic. It shouldn’t even be attempted by non-seer’s.”

 _Well,_ Arthur thought, _that explains a lot._

Merlin flicked an agitated wrist, and several heavy bound volumes flew down from the highest bookcases, awaiting his command.

“Counter-curses, spell removal, healing,” he muttered as they laid themselves neatly out on the table.

“Anything I can do?” Arthur offered, barely even stunned at the casual display of magic. Merlin shook his head. “Just make sure she’s alright.

As if that wasn’t what Arthur had been doing for the past day and a half.

“How did she even find this?” Merlin muttered anxiously. Arthur shifted uncomfortably. As much as he hated to lie to Merlin, he knew that some of the elements of this story weren’t his to tell, and so he hadn’t yet mentioned Aelia’s little heist. He was saved from having to answer by his triumphant whoop

“Did you find-?”

“There's a way to remove it!” Merlin carried the open book over to Aelia’s feet. “I just need some of your hair."

Arthur sighed. What was it with these people and his hair? Still, he conceded, allowing Merlin to pluck a strand from his head. At least he wasn't snipping off another chunk of the stuff.

Merlin took another strand from Aelia, and, in a display that wasn't dissimilar to what Arthur had seen the night before, ignited them as he whispered something in the same strange language Aelia had first cast her disastrous spell in.

For one anxious, awful moment, nothing happened. Then she woke with a jolt that nearly rocked her off of her seat, heaving in great lungfuls of air as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Merlin caught her by the elbows as she struggled back. She had a strange look in her eye- like she wasn’t all the way there, her mouth moving furiously as she muttered, ”No, no, no, no-"

"Aelia-"

"No, please, I can’t- I didn’t mean to-"

“Aelia, it’s alright-"

"This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t-"

“Aelia!” Merlin clapped his hands over her shoulders and she went froze where she sat, perched like a bird on the verge of flight.

“You’re here,” Merlin said carefully. He took her hands. “You’re okay.”

With that, she slumped back, horrible, choking sobs forcing their way out of her throat.

“Come on.” He rose, tugging her up as he went. “Let’s get you some tea.”

He threw Arthur a significant look as he ushered her out the door. Arthur followed after, ready to put the kettle on.

———

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Aelia shrugged guiltily.“I just wanted to help.”

Merlin had never wanted to strangle her more than he did in that moment. This _girl-_

“And what did you find?” He asked, somewhat rhetorically.

Aelia sighed. She stubbornly refused to meet his gaze, instead busying herself with tracing the rim of her mug. “Well, you were on the right track with Annabel Conley.”

“I’m sorry?” Merlin’s eyebrows shot up.

“The spell,” she said. “It made me fall asleep whenever someone said something alluding to Arthur's purpose. I made him read me a couple of prophecies to test it. None of them made me sleep, but every time someone said her name-” she snapped her fingers. “I was out.”

Merlin pursed his lips. “That’s good to know,” he said stiffly. And it was, but she wasn’t off the hook that easily. “And as punishment for attempting something stupid without proper supervision, again, you get to reorganize the basement archives. Without magic. No going out until they’re finished.”

She nodded defeatedly. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Merlin hummed. There was still something pressing him about all of this. “Where did you even find a spell like that anyway?”

“One of my cousins had it.” She’d gone shifty, refusing to meet Merlin’s gaze. He frowned suspiciously. She was definitely lying. Strangely enough, she almost looked like-

He turned to where Arthur was skulking by the kettle. Oh.

“Aelia,” Merlin said. “Drink your tea and then go to bed. And remember what I said about the archives.”

“Can I at least use magic to _clean_ them?” She asked. Merlin considered it. “Fine,” he said. “But that’s all.”

She treated him to a weak smile. “To be honest, I thought it was going to be way worse.”

He rolled his eyes, then, to assure her that he did, in fact, care, reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

She gave a small nod and patted his hand softly. “Me too.”

Merlin nodded. “Arthur?” he called. Arthur stood to attention, every inch of him a soldier. “A word?” He asked. He nodded slowly, and followed Merlin out of the kitchen to the study.

“So,” Merlin said when they were seated before the fire. “You were lying to me. That’s why you’ve been so strange all afternoon.”

Arthur winced. “Yes. I’m sorry, Merlin. I know I was the one who said no secrets, but-”

“I’m not angry,” He said quietly. “I’m a bit hurt.”

He was. He thought they were moving forward.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said. “I was just- I don’t know. I was trying to help Aelia.”

And maybe it was his determination, his sureness in the nobility in that task- or maybe it was the fact that Arthur had been looking after Aelia, who he held so dear- but _oh-_ there it was. That stupid in love feeling that meant Merlin would forgive any transgression if Arthur always apologized like that, with those beautiful, sincere, puppy dog eyes trained on him like only Merlin’s forgiveness could save his soul.

“Get up,” he said. Arthur hesitantly obeyed.

“You’re not going to punch me, are you?” He half-joked.

“No,” Merlin scoffed. And then he rose too, and enveloped Arthur in a warm hug.

“Thank you,” he said into his shoulder. “For looking after her.”

He felt Arthur’s hands come to rest tentatively on his back, felt the moment when he relaxed into the embrace. “You’re welcome,” he replied.

They stayed like that for a long moment- Merlin took his time to bask in the warmth and the smell and the overwhelming sense of ArthurArthurArthur- before they pulled away.

“So,” he clapped his hands together. “Annabel Conley.”

Arthur’s shoulders slumped as he groaned. “Is it always work with you Merlin? I swear, every time we have a nice moment-”

“Hey!” He exclaimed, cuffing Arthur lightly on the arm. “It’s all for you, prat.”

“I know.”

When Merlin looked up, Arthur was staring at him with a familiar, unbridled fondness- the one that made him think maybe-

No. Now wasn’t the time for hapless musings. Merlin went to retrieve Annabel’s book from the shelf, left those thoughts in its place, and turned back to the fire and to Arthur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey kids, this is a call for help. I need a beta reader. As much as I love writing and editing this beast, I've been falling behind on updates, and each chapter keeps getting longer as I continue to write, so I need an extra set of eyes/hands to help me out. If you know somebody who could be interested or are game to do this yourself, please message me and let me know so we can discuss the details. Thanks guys! I really appreciate it!  
> \----  
> 2/25  
> Hey all, the next update probably won't be up until next Tuesday, cause of midterms, but I promise it's coming soon


	6. still wait till i trade my mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And maybe it was the genuine bewilderment with which he asked her, or maybe the infantile way his mouth hung open in unhappiness as he did, but at that moment something inside of her snapped. Whatever composure, or fear, or docile shyness she’d possessed up until now ran for the hills, and all she could hear was the pounding of her heart and the roar of _How dare he? How dare he pretend not to know?_ _How dare he treat me like a child- like a_ fool- _who can’t even tell when they’re being ignored?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a short addition to the long boi, but I think the next one is gonna be pretty long so...  
> In all honesty though, this has been one of the most difficult chapters to write, in between work and school and also just it's content, man. It's short but it's really important in my eyes. I've edited it and edited it, and now I think I've finally gotten it right. So enjoy!  
> ALSO  
> there's cutting for magical purposes in this chapter. If you want to skip, stop reading when Merlin says ‘it takes longer to heal’ and resume at “Hold that there for a moment. You alright?” Merlin said.

Killian Dreyfuss was decidedly against rainy afternoons. He'd decided this when he was a young man and had yet to change his mind. He didn't like how the sky turned cold and grey, or how his bad knee went stiff and achy long before the first whiff of ozone.

He'd mentioned it to his much younger sister once, years ago, while they sat having tea and watching a five-year-old, wellie-clad Miles leap into the shallow puddles that lined their drive. She'd laughed at him then, and said that he might want to think of moving somewhere that wasn't Britain, if that was the case.

Killian never did move somewhere that wasn't Britain.

But it was on one of these rainy afternoons, this one in mid-October, when Killian limped into his bookshop on his stiff and aching knee and found someone who was very plainly _not_ his nephew sprawled across the front counter, chatting amiably with a customer.

Thankfully, he recognized the puff of brown hair and the smiling, apple-round cheeks- Aelia Thomas. Miles had introduced the girl to him last week, and, if he remembered correctly, she lived only a few kilometers outside the village. She often stopped in to visit with Miles, sometimes for a few minutes after running errands, sometimes for a few hours after the shop had closed. Killian had tripped over them reading many times in the little corner they had created upstairs, the one he'd given up on telling Miles to take down.

Things might have been simpler if her presence was a nuisance, but Killian liked the girl just fine. She’d always been perfectly polite on the rare occasion that they spoke. It was only that she'd been spending so much time at the shop that she was starting to act like… well... like she worked there. It was becoming increasingly usual for him to find her helping Miles re-shelf stray books while they chatted, or pointing customers toward the proper section for their literary conquest, or giving recommendations to the curious browsers that sometimes slunk through the stacks of the Dragon's Hoard. Some days, like today, he’d even catch her standing behind the counter, keeping an eye on the floor while Miles was off doing Lord knows what in the back.

The strangest part was that, when she was there, she was actually, genuinely helpful.

And Killian _was_ getting older- he'd long been thinking that soon they would need another set of hands to keep things running around here...

And besides, she already had their inventory memorized (he'd overheard her and Miles talking about it once) and she was local enough that she knew most of their clientele by name...

And she didn't seem to have anything _else_ to do...

Yes. Of course. Why not?

It was, admittedly, not often that Killian Dreyfuss had a brilliant idea. But this one was too obvious to miss, even for him. 

Which was why, as soon as the customer left, he approached the counter.

“Hello Miss Thomas.”

He liked to think of himself as a somewhat intimidating man. Or at least an imposing one. He had pale, flinty eyes, and a wrinkled mouth that was perpetually turned in a thin line. He hardly ever looked pleased, and that pleased him just fine. He'd found that looking too pleased often gave people the impression that they'd impressed him, and that was rarely the case. The girl was not one to be easily cowed, but at his word she stood up straight, going from her casual slouch to something akin to the crisp lines of a student awaiting word from their schoolteacher. Killian allowed himself a bit of smugness for that.

“Hello Mr. Dreyfuss,” she replied cheerfully. “How are you?”

“Fine, thank you. And yourself?”

“Good. A bit tired.”

“I’m sure,” he nodded. “You wouldn’t happen to know where my nephew is?”

“Upstairs,” she said. “He said he needed to restock a few things and asked me to watch the shop. I hope that’s alright.”

“Fine, fine,” he said. Had he been younger, he might have waved her concerns away, but alas, arthritis.

“I actually wanted to speak to you."

"Oh?" She smiled. Killian was delighted to find it was a pleasant smile- the kind of smile that would be useful in placating huffy customers.

"What about?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to work here."

Her mouth dropped open. Killian resisted to urge to reach over and push it shut. Or to tell her that she was letting flies in, like he told Miles.

“I’m sorry?” She'd found her voice.

“I’m offering you a job,” he clarified. “You’re smart. You seem to know the shop already, you’re good with people—and you’re here so often, we might as well pay you for it.”

A faint blush touched her ears. Killian graciously ignored it. 

“So. What do you say?”

Her mouth twisted carefully. “I’ll have to think about it,” she said.

“Alright,” Killian said, though he couldn't fathom what there was to think about. It was a job. Money. And she hadn't even needed to apply- he'd _offered._

To each their own, he supposed.

“Give me your answer by Monday.”

And with that, he left her staring nonplussed into space and went in search of his nephew.

———

Arthur was having a nice morning, all things considered. He’d slept well, woken feeling refreshed, and even had time to watch the morning news. The egg he'd made himself for breakfast hadn't broken in the pan, and he was able to snag the last bit of bread for his toast.

Yes, Arthur was having a nice morning- except for the fact that his new knight's head was in the clouds and it was about to get one of them killed. Or at least, badly injured.

 _It'll probably be her,_ he thought as he blocked another disappointingly flimsy jab to his his jaw.

Sad. She'd been doing so well over the past few sessions. 

“Alright, stop,” he said.

Aelia conceded and backed away, breathing heavily.

“You're distracted,” he reprimanded her.

“Sorry,” she said, but her eyes were dead set on the empty air. She was only going through the motions, even to speak.

Arthur shook his head. “If you can't focus, you can't fight.”

“I know,” she waved him off.

“Then _act_ like you know,” he said. “Again.”

She copied his stance, but Arthur could already tell her heart wasn’t in it. He dodged her first jab without so much as a breath, feinted left, and, with a well placed sweep, knocked her feet out from under her. She slammed into the mat with a _smack_ and lay there for a moment, struggling to find her breath again.

Arthur sighed. It was a lost cause. 

“That’s enough for today," he said. 

“Sorry,” Aelia choked out as she sat up. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Oh?" He arched an imperious brow, his mouth pressed into a thin, disapproving line. "That wouldn’t have anything to do with the books that have been missing from Merlin’s collection, would it?”

He'd been trying to broach the subject with her for the past few days now, ever since he'd realized that the glass cabinet in Merlin's study was a bit sparser than it had been the week before, when Aelia had found a way around its' magical lock. She still wouldn't tell Arthur how she did it. Probably because she thought he'd tell Merlin.

He wasn't sure if she was right or not.

“Oh don’t start,” she shook her head.

“He’s going to notice eventually,” he insisted. Especially if she continued as she had been- taking two and three leather-bound volumes at a time. She was getting cocky, and, sooner or later, that was going to get her caught.

“I have it under control,” she said airily. “Besides, he hasn't looked up from that Conley book for days. I doubt he's going to be able to tell if _The Magickal Theory of John Dee_ takes a field trip to my bedroom.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but he couldn't deny that there was some truth to Aelia's overconfident assurances—Merlin had been single-mindedly scouring Annabel Conley’s prophecies, referencing, cross-referencing and double-checking, since Aelia's disastrous dream spell. He’d ruled out all of the prophecies, save eight, and was trying to whittle that pool down even further. Soon, there wouldn’t be much more for him to do than to wait for one of them to come true.

“Fine. If that isn't it, what's going on with you?” Arthur said, crossing his arms.

She sighed in aggravation. “It’s nothing, alright? I’m just having an off day.”

She was lying- Arthur could tell when she was doing that now. He let his skepticism show in the purse of his mouth.

She didn't crack.

“Arthur,” she said, resolutely looking him in the eye. “It’s _nothing.”_

He shrugged with pragmatic disbelief. “If you say so.”

“I do,” she said as she stood, and began to making her way to the back door. “Now, if we're done here, I’m going to go take a shower. Rose is coming over and I don't want to see her when I'm smelling like a sewer.”

“Hey, come back and help me put everything away first,” Arthur called after her.

She stopped in the doorway, something mischievous twinkling in her eye.

“Fine,” she said, and really, Arthur should’ve predicted what came next from the sly, trouble-promising cheek with which she grinned.

With a wave of her hand, the mat flew neatly out from under his feet, and he hit the ground with a _smack._

———

Rose was Aelia's best friend for many reasons. There was her quick wit and vibrant humor, how she always seemed to have the right words to say, and the fact that in the three years since they'd met they'd never once grown tired of each other. But the most important reason, for her at least, was that Rose was genuinely, deeply kind. It was a kindness that shone through her in the tiniest ways- in how she'd randomly whisk Aelia away for coffee, in how she remembered her favorite scent of candle was and saved them for when she came over.

And then Rose was adventurous. It was she who Aelia snuck out with for the first time, the weekend after she'd turned eighteen. They'd gone dancing in the local pubs and clubs, spinning under strobe lights and on patios as the late-August sun settled in their hair. They'd only been discovered the next morning, when Merlin saw the tomato plant they'd crushed on their way out Aelia's bedroom window and the matching red stains on her sneakers.

And then Rose was utterly trustworthy. They'd each been the first person the other had come out to, and to this day Aelia didn't think Rose had told another living soul about Aelia and vice versa.

In short, Aelia loved Rose the way she thought sisters must love each other. She had no idea how she'd survived the first fifteen years of her life without her, but she had no intent of doing so again. They'd already agreed they were going to be those two chaotic old women in the nursery home together.

But it just so happened that, along with all those wonderful qualities, Rose was also terribly aware of her own attractiveness and intelligence, a combination that made her a wicked and persistent flirt. And Aelia lived with two- begrudgingly, somewhat, kind of, relatively,  _maybe-_ good-looking men. To have Rose in the same room as them for too long would be cause for immediate concern. And so Aelia’s plan was to get her through the cottage and into her bedroom with as little interaction with Merlin and Arthur as possible. Perhaps without even seeing them.

Alas, she failed. 

The minute Rose stepped through the door, she zeroed in on Aelia's housemates where they were slumped, rather unattractively, over on the couch. Merlin was reading the Conley book again, while Arthur fiddled with the remote control.

“Is that them?” She stage whispered, and she might’ve whistled if Aelia hadn’t elbowed her sharply in the ribs. That, however, did absolutely  _nothing_ to deter her from bounding over, all bright smiles and fluttering eyelashes and somehow-coquettish 'how do you do’s.' Aelia thought that she even saw her _wink_ at one point.

She dragged her away immediately after she’d introduced herself, ignoring the twinkle in Merlin’s eye and the twitch at the corner of Arthur’s mouth.

 _Not a word,_ she wanted to point a finger and wag it at them.

Instead she pulled Rose through the kitchen to her bedroom, and shut the door behind them.

“I thought I told you to behave,” she said, throwing herself onto her bed. Rose ignored her in favor of finally whistling at the closed door.

“Well."

She turned back to Aelia, and, with a teasing smirk, said, "They’re rather fit, aren’t they?”

Aelia just barely resisted the sudden urge to vomit. Instead she flopped over and buried her face in her pillow and groaned. Loudly. For an extended period of time. For the effect. The aesthetic, if you will.

“You’re the _worst."_

Rose laughed as she joined her on the bed and casually rested her head on Aelia's back.

“I mean, Arthur's more classically handsome, what with the eyes and those _shoulders—”_ Aelia gagged exaggeratedly— “but Meraud’s got that whole professor vibe going for him, hasn’t he? With the messy hair and the scruff, and the-”

“Ew!” Aelia haphazardly batted at her with the pillow (it was difficult when you couldn't actually _see_ what you were batting at). “That’s my cousin!”

“Opposite side of the family,” Rose dismissed her with a wave of her hand.

 _Don't puke,_ Aelia told herself. _Don't. Puke._

_“Still."_

“Besides,” Rose ignored her. _“Arthur’s_ not your cousin.”

Aelia smacked at her again with the pillow. Rose giggled.

“Oh come on,” she said appeasingly. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“Well, _yeah,”_ Aelia said. Of course Rose wouldn't. They were best friends, and Aelia had declared the male-identifying population of the cottage off-limits. According to the code they had written in 11th year, Aelia was allowed to sue her for emotional distress if Rose even _tried._

“Still gross,” she said anyway.

She couldn't see it, but she sensed that Rose was doing that fond eye-roll of hers, the one she saved specifically for Aelia. "Prude," she poked.

"Probably," Aelia agreed, just to make her laugh. It worked.

Aelia would have been content to lay there for hours, Rose's head atop her back, but then her arm started to fall asleep.

Damnit.

"Hey, scooch for a second," she said. She twisted around and sat up. Rose leaned back into her original position, this time on Aelia's lap. Her close-cropped hair tickled Aelia's fingers.

"So what's going on with you?" She asked.

"Nothing, really," Rose said. "Mum's still holed up in the garage, working on her project."

"The miniature particle accelerator?" Because along with being a top-notch business consultant, Rose's mom also happened to be a brilliant engineer.

"Yeah. She's said she'd stuck on making the vacuum powerful enough to remove all the air from the tube."

"Why does she need to remove the air from the tube?" Aelia asked.

"No idea," Rose laughed. "She won't let anyone look at it. Not even me."

Aelia frowned. "That's strange."

Mrs. McCallen always included Rose in her experiments.

"I think she wants it to be a surprise," Rose said halfheartedly.

Aelia nodded. "Makes sense."

Still. It was strange.

“So," Rose broke into her thoughts. "What’s bothering you?”

Aelia cocked her head, going for nonchalance and almost definitely coming up short. “Why does something have to be bothering me?”

“No reason. But you're frowning like something is.” She accentuated the remark with a gentle touch to Aelia's brow. Damnit. She knew her too well. Aelia had nearly forgotten that she could be read like that. Lately the only other person with that ability hadn't been bothered to try.

"Is it about that boy you've been talking to? Miles?" Rose persisted.

"No," Aelia said. Miles was lovely. _He_ wasn't the hard part of this situation.

"Then what is it?"

When Aelia said nothing, Rose sat up and joined her against the wall. "Come on," she nudged at her. "Tell me."

"It's not important-"

"Aelia." Rose leveled her with determined yet soft look. "Tell me."

And Aelia had never been able to hold up against that look, try as she might. This time was no exception.

"Alright," she conceded with a sigh. “Killian offered me a job.”

“The guy from the book shop?” Rose asked, her eyes alight. Aelia nodded.

“That’s brilliant!” She exclaimed. “You said yes, didn’t you? Please tell me you said yes.”

“I said I’d think about it,” Aelia said.

“What is there to think about?” Rose asked, somehow both incredulous and joyful. “You love it there! You talk about it all the time.”

She wasn't wrong—Aelia _had_  subconsciously managed to worm the Dragon’s Hoard into most of their conversations over the past weeks. And she _did_ miss the luxury of a constant—if not staggering—income, even though she hadn't had a job since moving to Cornwall. The only thing holding her back from taking Killian's offer was Merlin. 

Before, she hadn’t worked because she hadn’t had the time between school and their lessons. But now there _were_  no lessons. There hadn't been lessons for weeks, and not even Arthur's intense training regime could match the rigor that had defined her apprenticeship with Merlin. For once, Aelia had time to do what she wanted, and she did want to work.

But something inside of her screamed that taking this job would mean admitting that her apprenticeship was over. That it was impossible to have one without losing the other. Even if the other was all but lost already.

"I just-" she broke off. “I don’t know.”

Rose studied her for a long moment. Her expression shifted from one of confusion to one of comprehension.

“Oh sweetie,” she said, scooting closer to Aelia. “Is it about working with Miles? You know, just because you like him-”

“What?” Aelia’s head shot up. “No! I don’t—I don’t like Miles. I mean, yeah, he’s great, and I think he’s adorable, but I don’t _like_ him!”

Rose lifted one deadpan eyebrow- _S_ _ure you don’t,_ it seemed to say. Aelia resisted the urge to shave that eyebrow off.

“Then what is it?” She persisted.

“It’s—" Aelia sighed. "Do you remember that internship I told you about?”

 _Internship_  had been her and Merlin's codeword for the apprenticeship. 

“The one with Wyltt?” Rose frowned quizzically.

“Yeah,” Aelia said. She chewed the inside of her cheek, puzzling at how she could explain it to Rose without the whole messy, unbelievable story tumbling out.

“I guess...I guess I...Well," she stopped and started again, her mouth moving faster than her mind could follow.

"It's just," she tried again, "before he left, he made it sound like I was going to continue it with Meraud.”

Rose nodded, understanding. “And he hasn’t.”

“No,” Aelia confirmed.

“And you’re disappointed.”

“Yeah.”

“I see.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Then Rose said, “Are you and Meraud not getting along, or-?”

“No,” Aelia shook her head. “It's not like that, it’s just…it’s different now. And…I’m not sure that I…have the same place here as I did before.”

Rose scrutinized her, and Aelia could practically hear the gears turning in that brilliant head of hers.  “I know you and Wyllt were close,” Rose began slowly. “So maybe...maybe it’s not just the internship. Maybe, on some level, you expected Meraud to be the same kind of parental figure Wyltt was. And now, because he isn’t, you feel...out of sorts.”

Aelia shrugged. It wasn’t like she could say something like, _A_ _ctually, it's the same person with a younger-looking face, so my expectations were right on lock._

“Maybe,” she shrugged. Then, with more honesty than she'd been able to muster in weeks, she said, “I think a part of me misses when it was just us.”

It was difficult for her to admit, but it was true. And it wasn’t that Aelia didn’t _like_ Arthur—far from it. She loved spending time with him, loved talking to him, loved how he fit into their strange little family. And obviously, his being there made Merlin stupidly happy. But down in the smallest, most selfish parts of her, she couldn’t deny that she was jealous of their bond- of how easily Arthur commanded Merlin's time and attention. Those same parts of her yearned for the old days, before Arthur—for shitty beer and Doctor Who marathons, for their late night, cocoa-fueled discussions about whether or not moist was a gross word when their separate insomnias kept them both up, for lessons and potions and being playfully criticized for her shoddy German until she threw a book at Merlin’s head. She missed having the one person who knew her completely all to herself, because nowadays it seemed he could barely spare a second for her unless Arthur was there too.

And yes, Arthur had unknowingly stepped in to fill that void a bit, but it wasn’t quite the same. Merlin had been her person—her _family._

And lately it felt like that was falling apart. She hated it.

“It’s okay to miss him you know,” Rose assured her. “I know that if my dad up and moved to London, I’d be heartbroken.”

"Yeah, but it's not the same," she protested, "Wyltt isn’t my dad."

Rose looked at her doubtfully. “Isn’t he though?” She said.

 _No,_ she wanted to say, _he isn't._ But...

If someone had asked her, she'd say that she'd never thought about it before. Her dad—her biological dad—had fucked off without so much as a goodbye just after he found out her mother was pregnant, and so father figures weren't something that had ever really existed in her life. Not that it had mattered to her- she'd been too busy growing up to be overly concerned about it. So what if it were Uncle Omar that took her to the daddy-daughter dance? Or that kids like Leroy Hannigan called her a bastard before they became all scrawny and soulful and poetic? Or that she never had a Bring Your Kid To Work Day outside of a law firm? Aelia had her mom, and she was determined not to want anyone else.

And then she died, and Aelia had been so preoccupied with her grief that having a dad was the last thing on her mind.

(It had been there, though.

Part of her thought that he might show up for the funeral.

He didn't.)

And Merlin… Merlin had always been something of an older brother, maybe a cousin. Family, yes, of course. But a father? No _way._

But now that she considered it she realized...

It had always been Merlin to take her shopping for school supplies or help her with her homework. It had always been Merlin who had given her advice. It had been Merlin who had taught her how to change a flat tire. And Merlin to give her her first beer. And Merlin who stayed up on the couch to make sure she made it home safe when she went out at night. And to check on the people she went out with. And to drive her around before she had a license, and to make her special pancakes on her birthday, and to take care of her after her mom had passed, and to-

“Oh my God,” she breathed with new and horrible awareness. “He’s... he's my dad. My weird, pseudo-dad.”

Rose snorted as she guided Aelia’s astonished head to her shoulder.

“Yes love,” she said. “I think he is.”

———

Merlin was losing his mind, Arthur was certain of it.

He’d admittedly been certain long before now, but this just drove it home.

“-and so now, all I need to do is isolate the events of each prophecy, cross reference them with the prophecy the dragon gave me back in Camelot, and see which one pertains to you now,” Merlin said. “What do you think?”

Arthur could do no more than stare, mouth agape, at the yarn-covered cork board that Merlin had placed in the middle of the study, which he was emphatically gesturing to.

“Have you slept at all this week?” Was all he could come up with.

Merlin's spluttered indignantly. “Of course I have!”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed.

“In your own bed?”

And the fact that Merlin couldn't even meet his eyes and instead chose to stare at the spot two meters above Arthur’s head was a dead giveaway. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and then said in a rush, “You see, that’s an entirely different question-”

Arthur flung his hands up. “You are unbe _lievable-”_

“I didn’t do it on purpose!”

“That doesn't matter!” He exclaimed, barely resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands.

 _A toddler,_  he thought to himself, _looking after him is like looking after a toddler._ An incredibly intelligent, high-strung toddler, but a toddler nonetheless. He glanced up to where Merlin was worrying his lip, waiting on Arthur's word.

He was too skinny, his sharp elbows and cheekbones made even more severe by stress. The bruise-colored circles that darkened his face and made it look as if he had two black eyes were only worsening, his hair was an absolute rat's nest, and the smell coming off of him was positively rank. In short, he was wasting away, and there was nothing Arthur could do about it.

Besides...

 _The sooner this is over, the sooner he_ stops, he thought. _The sooner you get the old Merlin back._

The old Merlin. The _healthy_ Merlin. The Merlin who slept in a bed and not slumped over in a wooden chair. Arthur was surprised to find there wasn't much he wouldn't do to see that Merlin again.

“Alright,” he said. “How can I help?”

Merlin’s face lit up.

“Wait here,” he said.

He went to retrieve a bowl from his potion table, and set it down on the floor between his chair and Arthur’s. It was large and quite flat—more of a plate than a bowl—and looked like it had been hewn from a single block of shining obsidian.

“It’s beautiful,” Arthur murmured.

“It's a scrying dish,” Merlin said. He had pulled a small knife out of his potion kit and was wiping it clean.

"Scrying?"

“A practice that allows non-Seers look into the future.”

Arthur frowned. “Why didn’t you just do that in the first place? It would’ve saved us weeks of searching.”

_It would have saved you from becoming a skeleton._

“Well it’s not an exact science,” Merlin said as he inspected the knife. It was made from the same obsidian as the bowl. “Besides, I need the right celestial circumstances—the phase of the moon and the alignment of the stars and such. There’s only a short window every few months that I’m able to do it properly." He spared Arthur a peek. "Lucky for us, that window starts today.”

"Lucky," Arthur muttered as he watched him prepare. “So what do you need me to do?”

“I need a bit of your blood to focus the trance," Merlin said ruefully. "Sorry.”

He shrugged, hoping it came off as casual. “That’s a bit like what Aelia did last week, isn’t it?”

Merlin tilted his head in agreement. “A bit.”

Arthur nodded stiffly.

Since his return, it had been repeatedly demonstrated to him that magic was made of sterner, more material stuff than he’d initially realized. He used to think that it was all flashing eyes and spells muttered underbreath; that sorcerers shaped the world to their liking with a whisper and a complicated wave of their hand. And to some extent, it was—many times he’d seen Merlin and Aelia summon things to their sides from across a room, or reheat food at their whimsy. But it seemed that the stronger the power invoked, the more meticulously physical the rituals became. He had once sat with Aelia as she meditated for three hours over a stone and a cup of water. When she had opened her eyes again, a light rain was falling around the cottage and only the cottage.

So Merlin needing blood for this ritual was rather unsurprising.

“Alright then.”

Arthur slid to the ground, offering his palm to Merlin as he sat down across from him. Merlin immediately shook his head at it.

"I’m going to do it at the back of your forearm,” he said as he gently turned Arthur’s wrist over. "Less messy. Less painful too."

He placed the knife where he'd said, his other hand warm where it covered Arthur's pulse. He couldn't help but notice that Merlin's touch was exceedingly gentle, a direct contrast to the sharp blade being pressed to the thin layer of his skin.

“Ready?” Merlin asked quietly. And despite the fact that he was about to be sliced open like a spring chicken, Arthur couldn't help but feel completely safe.

“Do it,” he said.

There was a moment of clear, breathless pain as the knife pierced his arm; and then another as Merlin squeezed his arm over the dish, muttering, “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” as Arthur hissed, catlike, through his teeth. Then the cut was being covered by a gauze pad that had been soaked in something cool and soothing, and Arthur’s head felt right again.

“Hold that there for a moment. You alright?” Merlin said. His fingers were still fastened to Arthur's wrist, pressed almost intimately against the vein as his wide, sea-blue eyes searched his face. His concern, though ironic, was palpable.

“Fine.” Arthur said it through his teeth. “What next?”

Merlin pulled away, leaving the patch of skin where he'd held Arthur's arm steady unusually cold. He raised his hands over the bowl and muttered,  _“_ _Hærn.”_ It filled to the brim with fresh water, barely clouded by the few drops of his blood.

“Alright,” Merlin said. “Take my hands and close your eyes,”

Arthur obeyed unquestioningly.

_“Cýðan wægn eftwyrdhêrof blôd.”_

As the last syllable rolled off Merlin's tongue, a wave of blackness washed over Arthur and engulfed him.

For a long moment, there was nothing.

Then—

_Arthur is fighting, Aelia at his side. Their opponents make up a small group-more a band than an army-but they're fierce. He can hear Aelia panting as she knocks them back, using magic and sword alike in a graceful and deadly combination. In the distance, Merlin is roaring out a spell. Arthur chances a glance back—and there he is, in all his glory. His eyes shine gold; miniature suns pressed into the face of the man he—_

Then there was a flash, and the scene changed.

_His knights stand before him, dressed in modern clothing. They move as one, synchronized down to the beating of their hearts. He looks at all their faces with pride; even that of the boy who had once betrayed them all, the boy who had been reborn as—_

Another flash. Another scene.

 _Another battle rages before him. Flashes of light come from both sides, and the air is thick with static and the smell of blood. He can hear Merlin’s familiar shout at his back, can feel the buzz of his magic in his bones. He tightens his grip on Excalibur, preparing to swing. He can see Aelia, sees the flash of her sword as she cuts through the fray. She practically glows with power, bringing_ _her enemies to their knees with a mere look. It's rough magic, nothing like Merlin's glowing eyes and guttural, precise shouts, but it feels something about it feels_ pure. _Violent and crude, yes. But pure. A familiar figure is at her back, using sword and spell to defend her as she does them, but Arthur can’t quite make out who it is—_

And then it was over, as quickly as it had begun. Arthur was back in the study, he fingers locked, white knuckled, around Merlin’s, and he would feel badly about the intensity of his grip if it weren’t being returned tenfold.

"Did you see—" he began.

“Yes,” Merlin nodded, still staring at the surface of the water. “Yes, I saw.”

But when he looked up, he wasn't as shaken as Arthur felt. Instead he looked…elated. He grinned like he’d just been given a gift, or beaten Arthur at dice.

"What are you smiling at?" Arthur said.

Merlin was practically trembling with excitement when he said, “I know the prophecy.”

———

That night, Aelia sat down at the table and braced herself for the worst.

Rose had gone home about an hour before, leaving her with a kiss on the cheek and a wish of _good luck_ as she went. Aelia couldn't help the certain dread that had settled in her gut, which told her that she would need it when she told Merlin about the job.

But Merlin was, for once, in a good mood. He and Arthur had holed themselves up in the study for the entire afternoon, only to emerge wearing matching, triumphant grins. It seemed they’d made breakthrough on the prophecy.

Merlin was almost back to normal. He laughed at her jokes instead of giving the distant hum that had become the usual, and he was poking fun at Arthur's newfound bookishness, and he’d even made lasagna—the first time he’d cooked in a weeks. And then he and Arthur kept exchanging these shy, delighted glances throughout dinner- the kind that made Aelia feel awkward to be in the same room as them. She didn't mind so much tonight, though. She was too preoccupied with how she was going to bring Killian's offer up to Merlin.

 _It's not like you need his permission,_ she poked listlessly at her food as she argued with herself. Then, the same voice said, far more bitterly, _It's not like he'd even notice if you took it without saying anything to him._

 _But shouldn't we be honest with him?_ A second voice said. _Who knows. Maybe he'll be happy for us._

 _Oh please,_ the first voice scoffed imperiously. The first voice, Aelia had decided, was an asshole.

"Aelia," someone said into her reverie.

She looked up to find Merlin watching at her. "You alright?" He asked.

"Yeah," Aelia shook herself out of the slouch she'd sunk into. "Sorry, did you say something?"

“I asked how Rose was,” said Merlin. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen her.”

“Last time you were old,” she nodded, to Arthur's amused snort. “She’s good.”

Merlin's mouth quirked up. “What did you two do?”

She shrugged. “Mostly just talked.”

“Oh?” He said. “What about?”

“Just stuff."

She was trying embarrassingly hard for nonchalance.

"Classes, friends, etcetera. And she, um, she gave me some good advice.”

“Really?” Merlin sipped his wine with an air of sly knowingness. “Was it about a girl? A boy?”

Aelia laughed uneasily, her shoulders tensing. This was her chance. Now or never.

Well, maybe not never. Maybe tomorrow. But better now.

“Actually," she said, "she was giving me advice because I was offered a job.”

Merlin’s mouth dropped open.

“A job?”

She forced herself to meet his gaze.

“Yes.”

“Is it at that bookshop?” Arthur broke in through a mouthful of pasta. He’d remained silent throughout the conversation, listening as he ate. Aelia turned toward him, grateful for the excuse to break eye contact with Merlin.

“Yeah,” she said. “Killian asked me yesterday.”

“No wonder you were distracted,” Arthur said, but he seemed pleased. “Are you going to take it?”

“I want to,” she replied, just as Merlin snorted, “Of course she’s not.”

Then there was a long moment where nothing moved as each of them processed what the other had said. Then Aelia snapped back to face Merlin.

“What?” she said sharply.

Merlin sighed. “I only mean that you don’t have the time.”

She raised a single, tedious eyebrow. _Bullshit._

 _“Yes,_ I do,” she said.

“No you don’t,” he insisted. “Not with school, and your lessons, and now training with Arthur.”

Anger flared, hot and bright, in Aelia’s stomach.

“Sorry,” she let out a tiny, incredulous huff of laughter. “What was that second one?”

Merlin frowned. “Your lessons?”

“Ah yes,” she said, unable to guard her voice from the bitterness that lauded in her chest. “And when was the last time we had one of those?”

Guilt flickered over Merlin’s face. "I’m not sure—"

“A month,” she supplied for him. “A month and a week, if you want to be _very_ precise about it.”

Merlin's lips pressed into a thin line. He placed his silverware carefully beside his plate.

“I know I haven’t exactly been diligent with your studies lately, but-”

“Oh, but this has been going on longer than that and you know it,” she interrupted, realizing the words as she spoke them. “You’ve always held back. I’ve been with you for what, two and a half- three years now? And the most battle magic you’ve taught me is a stunning spell.”

"Aelia, I-"

"Two and a half years with you and I barely have more skills than a _kitchen witch-"_

"That’s not true and you know it-"

“Oh really?” She very nearly laughed. “The only spells you've taught me have been for cooking, or cleaning, or basic potions!" She ticked them off her fingers. "Or for growing crops and encouraging rain. And then there’s the books! You won’t let me read anything beyond an intermediate level, but I’ve been on an intermediate level for months now! So fine, maybe it’s not all basic, but let’s not pretend that this is the first gap in my education with you.”

“That’s not true!” He protested. "Just yesterday, you transformed that adder into a pot! That's advanced magic! Where would you have learned that if not from me? And before that-"

“The only reason I know those spells is because I’ve been stealing your books!”

A relentless silence followed Aelia’s outburst, like a brief high tide upon the shore. She could feel Arthur's gaze flicking between them; could hear the pounding of her own heart in her ears, but she paid them no mind. Her eyes were locked on Merlin's, which were wide with shock and something else; a hurt so profound that that same secret, vindictive part of her screamed for joy.

 _How do you like that?_ She wanted to say. _How does it feel?_

“You’ve been-what?” Merlin's voice cracked.

"I broke into your private collection." she said. "That’s how I learned that spell. And the one that I tried to see into the future with. I taught myself from your books.”

Merlin blinked in astonishment. “But- how? You can't even _be_ in the study by yourself-”

“I found your codex,” she said. "There was a bypass for the door. And the case."

She resisted the urge to rock back and forth on her heels under Merlin's scrutiny. _Hold your ground._

“But- you can't read the codex. It's locked. How-?” He said incredulously.

She glanced surreptitiously at Arthur, who looked as though he wanted nothing more than to disappear. Merlin turned to him in dumbfounded horror and betrayal.

_“You?”_

Arthur opened his mouth to reply, but Aelia beat him to it. “It’s wasn’t his fault. I kind of... knocked him out.”

“You _what?!”_ Merlin blanched.

“And I stole his hair.”

“Stole his-” He dropped back in frantic disbelief. “God, Aelia- _Why?_ Why did you do all of that?"

And maybe it was the genuine bewilderment with which he asked her, or the infantile way that his mouth hung open in unhappiness as he did, but at that moment something inside of her snapped. Whatever composure, or fear, or docile shyness she’d possessed up until now ran for the hills, and all she could hear was the pounding of her heart and the roar of _How dare he? How dare he pretend not to know?_ _How dare he treat me like a child- like a_ fool- _who can’t even tell when they’re being ignored?_

"Because you wouldn’t teach me!" She exclaimed. "You were so blinded by your fear that you wouldn’t even teach me!”

“My fear?” He cried. “Of what?"

"Of me!"

Merlin scoffed desperately. "Because I want you to be careful with your magic? Because I'm not teaching you how to kill someone? Because-?”

“Because you think that I’m Morgana!”

Her words hung in the air, in the complete and utter silence. Time itself had frozen them into place. The rage that had engulfed Aelia so completely a moment ago fled at the sight of Merlin’s face going slack with shock, dismay, and a dread so thick that it oozed into the air and clogged her nose when she tried to breathe. He stood abruptly.

"Merlin, wait-"

He held up a hand to silence her. For a moment, she thought he might speak, but instead, he only nodded. Then he walked out of the kitchen without a word to either of them.

Aelia let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and her head fell to the table.

“Shit.”

———

Merlin let the crisp night air wash over him, cool against his cheeks. He’d been sitting on the back stoop for nearly half an hour now, turning everything that had been said in the kitchen over in his mind.

Aelia knew. She _knew._

Never, in a million years, would he have guessed that she'd find out on her own. Maybe that’s what he’d been most afraid of; that one day she’d wake up and she’d just _know,_ or remember, or see, and by then it would already be too late.

But now they were here. And she knew. And somehow the world hadn’t spun off its' axis. She hadn't tried to kill him or Arthur. She was still...herself. Mostly. Aside from the stealing and the lying and the unfamiliar anger that had knit her shoulders into proud defiance when she'd yelled at him. He didn’t quite know what to do with that anger.

His rumination was interrupted by the squeak and gentle thud of the sliding door opening and closing, and then Arthur’s voice sounding from behind him.

“Are you alright?”

Merlin snorted derisively.

Arthur sucked in a breath through his teeth and said, “I’ll take that as a no.”

Merlin didn’t look up when Arthur joined him on the stoop, sitting close enough that their shoulders touching.

If Merlin were in a better state of mind, he probably would have basked in the warmth that was radiating off of Arthur. But for now his over-exhausted brain could only indifferently note that when Merlin leaned into him, Arthur didn't pull way.

It could also note that Merlin's ability to accurately imitate a lovelorn schoolchild was a shitty benchmark by which to measure his mental state, but he digressed.

After a long moment, he said, “How did she find out?"

Arthur's shoulder rubbed against his as he shifted.

“She said she overheard us,” he said. "The day you told me."

Merlin nodded to himself. Then he dared to ask, “And how long have you known that she knew?”

He felt more than heard Arthur's sigh. “Since the day you told me.”

Of course. And he hadn’t—

Merlin let his eyes fall shut, warding against that thought.

“You lied to me,” he said simply. He knew that he should've been angry—no, he should've been  _furious._ After everything that Arthur said about lies and secrets and honesty, he'd gone behind Merlin’s back. Again. He was a hypocrite. A lying hypocrite. 

But Merlin wasn’t angry. He was just numb.

“It wasn’t my truth to tell,” Arthur said, somber and stately and almost word perfect to what he’d said last time Merlin had discovered his deception.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your subjects, Arthur,” he snapped. The numbness was gone, then. “This isn’t  _Camelot._  This isn't your court. This is my home. And that girl is my apprentice, and you kept secrets from me that could have put the both of you in danger, do you understand?”

“I didn’t think—”

“No,” Merlin said sourly. “Neither of you _thought,_ did you?”

“That’s not fair,” Arthur said cooly.

“Frankly, I don’t give a damn,” Merlin replied.

“Well you should,” Arthur said. Merlin turned to him incredulously. Was he really going to fight him on this?

“She was _scared,_ Merlin,” he insisted. “That’s what started all of this. She was terrified of being Morgana—terrified that you would think she was evil without giving her a chance to prove otherwise.”

“I don’t _think_ that-!”

“But that’s how you acted!” He said baldly. "When you stopped her lessons! That's how you're acting right now-!"

“I’m just trying to keep you safe!” Merlin cried. “If she’s Morgana—!”

“So what?” Arthur tossed his hands into the air. “That doesn't change who she is-!”

"Do you really believe that?" Merlin let out a distressed breath of laughter. "And what do you think now that she’s been stealing from me, hm? Because that was never a problem I had with her before! Oh, but I’m sure you knew about that too-"

"She just wanted to learn!" He exclaimed. "That’s all she ever wanted, Merlin. And you stopped teaching her.”

Merlin reared back, the blatant accusation in Arthur's words far more effective than any physical blow could have been.

“So this is my fault?” He said bitterly. 

“No!” Arthur said, exhaling heavily. “No, I'm not- gods, Merlin- I’m not saying what she did was right. I just- I understand why she did it.”

Merlin shook his head. He refused to look at him. "Well. Good for you."

Because Merlin didn't. He _couldn't._

“Merlin,” Arthur said. “Do you know why Morgana changed before?”

He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” Arthur replied. Because of course it did. It would to good, noble Arthur, who was secretly as kind as he was brave. Of course he'd want to know what turned the girl who'd been his sister into someone who wanted him dead.

"It wasn’t just because she wanted freedom, the crown," he spoke more to the lake than to Merlin. "She told me, once, that it was because she felt so alone. In Camelot. She said that she felt abandoned, and unwanted, and alone." He paused, allowing the words to wash over Merlin. Allowed them to find their way into his core.

“I think that’s what Aelia's feeling right now," he said.

A memory flashed, unbidden, in Merlin’s mind.

 _Morgana, petrified, her green eyes boring into his, begging him in that clear, delicate voice of hers to_ help her—

And he'd beenyoung and naive, and had taken everyone’s advice but his own.

_I don’t know what you’re talking about._

He could still see her pulling back, shutting away. He could still remember the dip of her proud head as she hurried down the corridor and out of sight. Could still feel the regret tightening in his chest.

He thought of Aelia, the stubborn set of her jaw as she railed against him, the way her hands shook and balled into fists, the anger and the hurt that had lingered just below the surface of it all.

He’d promised himself it’d be different this time.

“You’re right,” he muttered.

Arthur frowned. “Sorry?”

“You’re right.”

He stood, and held out a hand to haul Arthur up after him.

“Once more? Couldn't hear you.” He said cheekily as he took it, and Merlin smiled in spite of himself.

“I’m not saying it again,” he said.

Arthur shrugged as he stood. “It was worth a try.”

Merlin took a moment just to look at him—this wonderful, wise, funny, covertly sympathetic man that he loved. The one person that had never failed to help Merlin pull his head out of his ass. And the most desperately masochistic parts of him wanted to tell him so, but he squashed them down. No point in messying things.

So instead he put a hand to Arthur's shoulder and said, “Thank you,” just to see that answering smile aimed back at him; to marvel at the way his eyes shone with it.

“Of course,” he replied. “Now, I think there’s someone you need to talk to.”

—

Merlin was about to go to Aelia’s room when there was a knock on the study door.

Speak of the devil and he will appear.

“Come in,” he called. 

She stepped inside, carrying a stack of large books.

“I figured you’d want these back,” she said, holding them up. Merlin beckoned her forward.

 _“‘Potions and Poultices for the Moderne Warlock,’”_ he read as he took them and placed them back in the glass cabinet where they belonged. “ _‘Transfiguration of Flora and Fauna…’ ‘Magickal Theory of John Dee—’_ well, I can’t say you weren’t thorough.”

“I started out with just trying the spells,” she explained. “But then I got kind of lost in the theory of it all, so...books.”

“But John Dee?” Merlin wrinkled his nose and turned back to her6. “Out of everything I have in here, _John Dee?”_

“He was more helpful than Da Vinci. You just don't like him because he disagreed with your theory about the Philosopher's Stone.”

"It's not a theory if you were there when it was created," he muttered. Aelia snorted, and for a shining moment it was almost like they were back to being _them._

But they weren't. Not yet, at least.

Aelia broke away from his gaze, and the moment was over. The unignorable gravity of all that had been said and done in the past few weeks had returned, and it could wait no longer to be acknowledged. Merlin _knew_ this.

Merlin sort of hated that he knew this. 

“Sit,” He nodded her towards the cushy armchair that had become Arthur’s. She went silently, and he followed after to his own seat. He stared at her as they sat down. She stared back, unflinching. Observing. Patient. Only the forcible set of her shoulders betrayed any hint of her anxiety.

 _“Why?”_ He asked.

Aelia didn't need him to clarify what he meant by that one word.  _Why did you break into my collection? Why did you steal the books? Why didn't you just_ talk to me? 

She sighed. “The first time I did it, I was trying to help. With Arthur and the prophecy.”

"I remember." Merkin nodded. “And after that?”

She didn’t falter. She just chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment as she deliberated.

“I think...I did it because I was bored," was her reply. "And angry... And… I missed it.”

“Missed what?’ He asked.

“Magic,” she said automatically. Then, her gaze flicked to the ground and back to him. “And you.”

Merlin frowned. “Me?”

"You and me…" She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "It was just us. For a really long time. And… I got used to that. To us...being like our own little, two-person family. And then Arthur came back. Which isn't- like, I'm not- I'm glad he did... But then you stopped teaching me. And then you wouldn’t let me help with the research. And then I found out why- that you thought I was Morgana-  and… I was scared. Of being her, of being...bad. And so the first time...I guess I was just trying to prove that I wasn’t. And I thought, you know, if my dreams could help you figure out why Arthur was back, maybe then... maybe then you wouldn’t look at me differently." 

Her jaw clenched and unclenched.

"Obviously, it didn’t work."

Merlin closed his eyes to the wave of guilt that threatened to crash over him. Arthur had been right.

“And I guess after all that… a part of me felt like I’d been abandoned,” she confessed.

“That wasn’t my intention-”

"I know," she cut him off. "God, Merlin, I know that. I know that you were just trying to protect Arthur, and I know why that was important. But it still sucked."

A tiny part of him, the part that was old and ironic and whimsical, wanted to laugh at that. It _sucked._ What a desperately teenaged way to describe it. It _sucked._

Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

“So what now?” She finally said.

Merlin considered her. _What now_ indeed?

Arthur's words came back to him.

_She felt so alone in Camelot. She felt abandoned, and unwanted, and alone._

_I think that’s what Aelia feels right now._

Aelia was Merlin’s responsibility, as much as Arthur was.

And he'd promised himself it would be different.

“You should take the job,” he decided.

Aelia was silent. She just stared at Merlin, her face carefully blank. Then, slowly, she nodded; eyes downcast, jaw set.

“I see.”

“But tell them you can only work three days a week.”

Her head snapped up.

“What?”

“You were right,” he said. “I was afraid. And at first, I tried to control it by keeping you from magic that you could use to hurt someone. And then, just by keeping you from magic. And that was a mistake."

She listened intently, her eyebrows hiking up her forehead as he spoke. "So, what you're saying," she suggested demurely, "is that you were wrong?"

Regret. Immediate and total regret.

"Well, stealing from me was also wrong," he countered, "And so was _knocking Arthur out_ and _stealing his hair—"_

“-He and I had a conversation about that-”

“—but I'm going to forgive you for that. Your lessons will resume tomorrow.”

A smile broke out across her face, unbidden from the looks of its' downturned corners. “Just like that?” she said.

“Just like that,” he confirmed.

"But you were pissed."

"Oh I still am," Merlin assured her. "Which is why you get to clean the leech tank tomorrow, and every day for the next week."

Her nose wrinkled, but she nodded.

"That's fair," she said. Then, suddenly, "I'm sorry, by the way. About everything. I mean, I'm not totally sorry that I did it, but I'm sorry I hurt you. I don't think I said that before."

"Thank you." He nodded slowly. Then, "I'm sorry too."

“Thanks,” she said.

“Of course,” he replied. She gave him a small smile, and Merlin was unexpectedly reminded of the book on his desk. He had intended to bring it to her room as something of an olive branch, but then she'd come and sought him out first.

"I’d like to show you something."

Her bright eyes were curious as he retrieved the Conley book, flipped it open to the page he'd marked, and held it out to her.

"What's this?" She said as she took it.

"Read it," he urged. She cast him a dubious glance, but did as he asked.

_“‘At the dawn of the millennium/the latent king will rise/and all the elements will rush to meet him/Courage will be aided by magic,/by strength and patience/by counsel and cunning,/by gentleness and nobility,/by bravery and wisdom,/by redemption and the light of the sun and the forces of the earth and the heat of the flame./And he will betray his father/And free the magicks of the world of their scourge./And then the threatened will be at peace,/And the pride of the people will live on.’”_

She looked up at him. “Is this-?”

“It’s the prophecy,” Merlin said. 

“You found it,” she said wonderingly, tracing her fingers along the page. “You actually found it.”

“We did,” he said proudly.

“What does this part mean?” She pointed to the verses. _"'Courage and magic,/patience and strength?'"_

“Arthur and I think that that's us,” Merlin said. “And… our friends.”

She raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Your friends?”

“Well, we've been called these things before. See, courage is Arthur,” he explained. “Magic- well, that's me. But strength…strength is Gwaine. And so we think nobility must be Lancelot, and either gentleness or patience is Gwen. And bravery is definitely Elyan, and the rest...”

“They’re coming back,” Aelia said slowly. “Everyone.”

“Eventually, yes, I believe so. It's like they’re being drawn here, to us, whether they realize it or not,” Merlin said excitedly. “Some of them, for entire generations.”

“Like Gwen and Elyan’s parents,” she nodded.

“Exactly,” Merlin said. The corners of his mouth were rising without his permission, but he didn't care.

“You know what that means?” Aelia said. She was smirking. An _I know something you don't_ smirk.

Merlin shook his head hesitantly. Her smirk grew wider.

“It means I was right. Them being here did mean something.”

He rolled his eyes fondly, hearkening back to what she'd said, all those weeks ago, the night Arthur had risen. The night of the ritual, when she'd come back all bright and happy and newly tattooed.

“Don’t start,” he admonished her, but the twinkle in her eye was reflected in his own.

“Oh, but I have to,” she said. “In fact, I’m required to start. It’s in my nature.”

“No, it’s not,” he said. He knelt down by the armchair as she continued to read.

“And what about this?” She asked, pointing to one of the lines. “What’s 'the light of the sun?'”

Merlin rested his chin on his elbows. “Not sure,” he said. “The only being I’ve come across that bore that title died a long time ago.”

 _Aithusa,_ he remembered. He last time he saw her was at Camlann, when the little dragon had been desperately swooping down on Camelot’s knights at Morgana’s command. He'd felt it when she died, some twenty years ago. It was like being gutted, like being flayed from the inside out, and he'd _known,_ with that deep-seated certainty of a parent knowing when some ill had befallen their child, that she was gone. Kaeis had found him lying on the kitchen floor when she'd trudged in the next morning and taken him to his bed. He hadn't been able to move for weeks after, and when he did it was only because Kaeis herself was sick, and, well, one of them had to cook.

That 'sickness' later turned out to be something very different, but that was another story.

“It’s funny,” Aelia’s voice brought him back to reality.

“What?” He asked.

“Something the Sidhe said,” she replied. “Apparently my name means sun.”

“Ah, don’t read too much into it,” he said. “The last one was a dragon.”

An odd crease folded her brow. 

“A dragon?”

“Yes,” he glanced back at her. “Why?”

“No reason,” she shook her head. “Just, didn’t realize you knew more than one dragon.”

Before Merlin could respond, she shut the book and handed it back to him.

“Why are you showing me this?”

Merlin took it.

“Because. It’s time you were my apprentice again.”

Her eyes shone with comprehension. “You mean-?”

“I’d like to formally invite you to help Arthur and I with the prophecy.” Merlin stuck out his free hand to shake. “Welcome to the team, Aelia Thomas.”

She took it with a grin. “Honored to be here, Merlin Emrys.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, I know it's been a hot fuckin minute since I updated this bad boy, so you're probably gonna be a lil upset to learn that I'm going to be going on hiatus. It's just been too much trying to edit and write new content at the same time, so I'm taking a break from updating to just write. Hopefully I'll be finished with the rough boi draft of this by like May, and I'll start updating again in June. Thanks all for being so great!


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